


Metal Guard

by HaephestusCrex



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Awkward Romance, Blood, Bullying, Childhood Trauma, Comfort/Angst, Daddy Issues, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gangs, Gore, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Manic Episode, Mutilation, Organized Crime, Other, PTSD, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Spanking, Teasing, and wishful thinking, because lets face it you know he'd love that shit, big simping for dead blond anime boys, mostly romance, no betas we die like men, not really plot driven tbf, sexy sex, this fic is blatant power fantasy, timeline is fucked just deal with it, weird Senpai-Kouhai with Oruo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 83,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaephestusCrex/pseuds/HaephestusCrex
Summary: A dark past, a wealthy patron - and a silver spooned cadet who cannot let you simply make sure he stays alive through the next few years in the training program.  It had started simply enough, your goal was to make sure Dieter Wolfgang got into the Military Police, no matter what the cost, or what burden you had to bare, you would carry it no matter how hard Instructor Ludolf would resent you for it.  Your world becoming a lot more complicated when the depth of your skill comes out in the battle for Trost, and Commander Erwin knows that he has to have you for the scouts.He has to have you, any method will do.
Relationships: Eld Jinn/Reader, Erwin Smith & Reader, Erwin Smith/Reader, Levi/Reader, Reader/Others, potential for Levi/Reader
Comments: 45
Kudos: 120





	1. The Metal Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> [[ A/N quite a bit passes in this chapter to get a feel for you/reader a bit, but then it jumps p much right into S1 E9: 'Where the Left Arm Went: Battle for Trost District Part 5' = R&R if u like my weird brain goo - dont worry, Paradis Lost is still priority. I just also had to get this out. ]]

_Chapter One_

**The Metal Maiden**

Instructor Ludolf of the West division of training the 104th cadet corps was as hard and as unforgiving as they came. He’s a man whose entirely brittle, quick to anger, whose face seems permanently pulled taught in an expression of pressed disappointment and simmering disgust when he looks at the cadets. Many of them are from the outskirts of Wall Rose, and he knows that there’s a lot of hopefuls who are willing to do anything to get into the military police. In a rare instance - at least one of his recruits, Dieter Wolfgang, comes from good stock - not the type to enlist but has an obvious drive towards the Military Police, Lord Wolfgang is paying a hefty sum in donations to ensure he gets there.

“Who the fuck decided to name you Longinus Weiner? Was your mother still high on the painkillers when she squeezed you out, you miserable sack of shit!?” Instructor Ludolf screams in Weiner’s face, a young, green cadet who visibly cringes, face a dark shade of red as he picks his way through the crowd.

Less unusual is the one whose being patroned by Lord Wolfgang - the one who looks just a little different, with a lightly olive complexion that reminds him of those that drop out into fieldwork instead that spend hours underneath the sun, turning soil with their hands. Undoubtedly you are there to keep Dieter from failing out, and practically wipe his ass for him - something that Instructor Ludolf cannot quite stand. When he screams in every soldiers face, he spares Dieter and picks those who he finds a waste of fitted uniform and leans his head down over to yours, breaking your personal space with a brutal disregard.

“That’s not regulation uniform!” he reaches forward, tearing the soft, red flap of cloth that was wrapped around the lower half of your face, under your nose and covering you from mouth to throat.

_Huh, there’s something to look at -_ you’re one of the older recruits, like Dieter - and truth be told, had a nice face under all that, so he wasn’t certain why you’d hide it, at least - until he screams at you, demanding your name. He knows it, of course, but it’s an exercise in submission, all of it is.

“And what are you supposed to be?” he sneers “- what’s your name and what’re you here for, runt?” - you are on the short side, all things considered, but you do not flinch under his intensity. Indeed, you have a settled dimness behind your dark eyes that reminds him heavily of those that first witnessed the titan attacks, but from your personnel file, there isn’t much to go on or anything of note, beyond the fact you’ve Lord Wolfgang’s patronage. Still, you’re no Lady, and in the army, all are equal - and in truth, the Lord has paid for Dieter’s smooth arrival to the MPs, not you. You’re just the expendable eyes and ears, and there isn’t anything to gain from favouring you, his only instruction is not to separate you, which does evoke some large measure of disgust in him. After all, what sort of man needed a babysitter to join the army? Fucking nobles.

“My name is Varsha, sir! I am here to defend the King’s order in this life and next, sir!” your voice has a practised tone to it, and lacks the conviction of your comrades, but you do not waver. When you speak, however, he sees an ungainly flash of metal under the bright sun and visibly cringes, the light reflecting in his eyes and oozing a surprised and visceral reaction of disgust.

“Ergh! And I need to defend my fucking eyes against that disaster you call a mouth! Put this shit back on,” he shoves the face mask back in your hands carelessly, ignoring the burning glare of Dieter - he has to pass the kid, not _like_ him or be liked by him, for that matter.

Your introduction to Instructor Ludolf, and the rest of your comrades on this day did, unfortunately, spell out and dictate a certain pattern to how your life would be over the next three years. That’s not to say everybody was terrible to you, but once Ludolf had set his sights on you in such a profoundly negative way, it was quickly apparent that being friends with you was a liability, of which only Dieter seemed to be somewhat immune.

Everyone knew of the patronage, nobody quite understood it, but it was quickly accepted that Dieter was destined for the MPs, and your presence is likely just in aid of being a means to that end. Your roommate, Lotte Becker, was doing her damned best to be a permanently positive presence, even with a reasonable distance kept, she was always, at the very least, kind to you.

Less could be said for Maria Weber, who was just an out and out bitch. Nobody could quite figure out why she disliked you so much, though some say it’s because you have a rich patron at all, and don’t need to rely on the army to survive. In fact, she’s not even certain you’ll bother making it to graduation once Dieter makes it to the top ten, and thus, it’s easy to resent you and your presence.

_Probably didn’t even get touched by the fucking famine, tin teeth bitch - her mouth is worth more than anything I’ve ever owned -_ it’s an entirely resentful thought, and one that makes Maria dislike you intensely for who you’re associated with.

So, she openly grins when Ludolf has you running from dusk till dawn, meal privileges revoked for every perceived slight. It is, at first, quite amusing - and Maria had taken great joy in asking how your run was, between bites of buttered bread loaf.

By week four, however, even as much as Maria fucking hates you, even mocking you at this point seems a little bit too much, and would lose her standing with some of her comrades.

“Oh God, seriously? He’s only just stopped starving her out but he’s still making her run?” a boy, Alfred Meier asks, looking out of the window uncomfortably to see you staggering under the light of dusk settling.

“Geez, Ludolf’s gonna turn her to paste before we even graduate,” Sabine grimaces, but in truth, there isn’t really much anyone can do = or is willing to do, about it. The truth is, at this point it’s long surpassed soldier hazing, and the dislike is palpable. You clean up after every field exercise, you’re constantly on latrine duty, and it seemed as though your privileges were always under some state of limitation or utter revoke.

“Don’t say that,” Dieter hisses through his teeth - he’s a good guy, all things considered, but nothing he does seems to help. He’s tried talking to Ludolf, but the man screams in his face and threatens to have him written up for insubordination, and that he’d write Lord Wolfgang himself. Dieter has, of course, also written to his father, but worryingly - never seemed to get a reply on the matter.

It always seemed as though he didn’t particularly care much for you when compared to Dieter, but his fondness was there, however muted.

It is just hazing, his father would say - she’s there to make sure you get in the MPs, no more, no less.

“I’ll write to the MPs then! They oversee trainers right?” Dieter asks, somewhat miserably, and not for the first time.

“You think they’ll care about a bunch of cadets whining about how mean an instructor is? They’ll probably just write it off, and if Ludolf finds out, your ass is grass,” Alfred grimaces, turning away from the window at the familiar sight of blood trailing down your legs into your combat boots.

The sensation of your lungs and heart burning in your chest is familiar, and about the only thing unrestricted to you is water, and after a certain point, your body fails after days and days of this - missing training just for punishment. Even Shadis wasn’t known to let a cadet run suicides for more than a week, because he doesn’t want to break his recruits beyond repair.

Instructor Ludolf had no such qualms, however.

It feels like the joints in your thighs are constantly grinding and moving, and your muscles constantly shredding and reforming anew, though there comes a point it burns in your lower gut and you can feel your bladder releasing before you can help it, and in truth so much of your effort is going into running until the sun finally sets that there is no strength to hold it back. At first you had thought you’d purely wet yourself, which is a humiliation that is becoming painfully familiar - but now, your body was finally crunching and buckling under the weight of Instructor Ludolf’s cruel expectations, as now blood was running down your legs and dying your uniform completely.

The familiar sensation of the ground around your ears and pressed against your cheek is cooling and welcoming, and not for the first time, you pass out.

It’s usually Dieter and Lotte who scrape you up, and drag you to your dormitory to sleep it off, but the sight of blood is enough.

It breaks Dieter Wolfgang long before it breaks you.

* * *

Dieter has always resented being as weak as he is - at least when next to you. Every bad thing that seems to happen, you always shouldered with a quiet dignity. He had never known you to lash out, even as children, because you were always relatively cool and collected, expressing only your truest self whenever his father was home. He remembered the day his father had brought you home, and you had given a quiet, trembling, toothless smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come, when he'd been much too young to react any other way except disgusted by your empty mouth.

"Now now, Dieter. That isn't very nice. She's our ward," Lord Wolfgang had said "- you're always whining about wanting friends you're own age, and the Good lord isn't going to give us another brat, so meet your new little friend," - he remembers how confused he'd been at his father's phrasing, and how disgusted he was at your trembling form, you were terribly slight, and you just looked a bit unwashed, that combined with an all-gums grin had left him momentarily speechless.

_Ewwwww gross and she looks weird! Take her back daddy._

Dieter winces when he remembers how rude he'd been, and when he'd asked what happened to make you look so odd, his father actually lashed out at him, scorning him sharply.

"Orphanages are where bad things happen to little children, asking that kind of question is very horrible and extremely unbecoming of a young lord, please do not ask it again and be nice to our ward," he had bitten out in a tone that brooked no room for argument, he remembers the chill that went through his bones from the way he'd looked down at him - he can count on one hand the amount of times Lord Wolfgang ever looked like that, and he was not keen to have it directed at him ever again. His youthful curiosity was constantly extinguished, and eventually, after a week of you being being bedridden after a few visits from men he did not recognise, he sees long, flat bars of silver-iron alloy metal in your mouth, sitting where teeth would otherwise be. It seemed that the people who had fitted them hadn't cared to add indentations to make them look much like teeth, 

Your cheeks had looked a little swollen, and upon closer inspection as an adult, he can tell they're practically welded to your jaw bones, deep beneath the layers of gum somehow, as you couldn't remove them. It was intensely painful, more than likely - and you'd undergone a butchery he'd never known to happen in order to facilitate an ability to speak, but after a month, you were finally saying consonants, and could join him for lessons with his governess. Your favourite had always been music, and with the addition of being able to speak clearly again, hearing you gently murmur soft words along to the string of a guitar had been the highlight of Dieter's night time, when your governess decided the pair of you were much too old for bed time stories. Eventually, the sight of your mouth stopped being strange to him, though he never did find out why, the closest he'd ever gotten was you saying - _a bad man, I don't want to talk about it -_ and he'd had years to accept that fact, the cadets however, did not. Ever since the first day, the pair of you had fended off awkward and intrusive questions about it.

You always remained impatient, an exasperated grunt under your facial bandanna.

Dieter however, had decided to run with it - and had taken to inventing wilder and more interesting stories about it until people realised he was bullshitting just to get them to leave the pair of you alone about the subject. Lotte Becker, for all of her curiosity, never finds out, and she's closer to you than any of the other girls in the dorm. She does, however, begin to occasionally leave a new facial bandanna neatly on your pillow every time their wages came through. It wasn't much, but when you realised it was her, you had questioned her softly, and she just smiled benignly in reply.

"It's not much," Lotte had said with a flush "-but it's the only thing I can think to do, so I thought I'd do this much for you at least," - she wants to be friends, but, she thinks with how intense Ludolf's dislike of you is, she hasn't the braveness Dieter has, and couldn't quite stomach being in the line of sight of both the instructor and Maria Weber, who, whilst softening ever so slightly, was still a complete bitch, and all Lotte wanted was to graduate and peacefully make her way to the Garrison. 

"Thanks," you still weren't sure you understood, because to be honest, you weren't sure if Lotte was feeling guilt, or just wanted a cleaner conscience at night, but you took the gifts for what they were. She was the one who would sneak bits of pilfered potato and bread into your pillowcase from the cafeteria Mess Hall when you were being starved out, so the gesture isn't totally lost on you, but it confuses you all the same.

_Guess I'm not worth being seen in public with though._

You wrap the silken-feeling bandanna around the lower portion of your face, beneath your nose, with a resigned noise.

_That's okay. I wouldn't be seen in public with me either._

Graduation was a quiet affair, all things considered - but a relief for you when you saw Dieter standing amongst those in the top ten of your graduating class. He does look behind his shoulder at you, but you just nod once in acknowledgement - surviving the three years had been arduous, but doable, and while a lot of you is relieved to never have to see Ludolf ever again, your future is uncertain. In truth, you were awaiting instruction from Lord Wolfgang on how to proceed, but it seemed you would likely be in the Garrison if he doesn't pull strings to reclaim you from the army and have you join his private guard, which you had long suspected was his ultimate goal once he'd integrated his son with the relevant authorities, so you usually answered 'Garrison' - when anybody asked. If anyone did. 

No one really did, save Lotte and Dieter.

The truth is, you excel in every field except classwork - and with omni-directional mobility gear, you move like a pondskater on the breeze. It is probably the only thing you legitimately liked, though your hand to hand combat skills put you in the top of the charts, your ability to compose an essay or even really demonstrate your literacy was rather low. It seemed the only thing you were interested in were the ODM exercises, and in truth, it's because whipping through the air at those utterly breakneck speeds was the closest thing to tasting freedom on your tongue you had ever felt. 

Briefly, it's like being a bird, soaring high above the walls of this torturous place and going somewhere better. 

"Hey, now that we're graduated - I just - I know it's probably pretty um, presumptuous of me, and I don't know if you'd want to," Lotte said, turning to you, holding her hand out, a watery, hesitant smile on her face as she looked at your indomitable, half-hidden expression. 

"But I'd like to be your friend, if that's okay?" she seemed nervous, and when you looked at her hand, you could see it was glistening with sweat and raise a brow at her. To be honest, even over three years, you're not sure entirely of Lotte Becker's intentions - if she really ever wanted to know you, or if being kind to you was just an exercise in virtue signalling and pity, but you didn't have time for either.

However, you feel Dieter glancing at you when this happens, and temper your acidic reply for a cautious one, that even sounds a little bit disbelieving and reluctant as it leaves your lips, and you do not take her hand.

"Maybe."

Lotte winces and retracts her hand - all things considered, that's not unfair, considering she had three years to try and be a better friend to you, but she didn't want to sacrifice her comfort. So, for now? A maybe was good enough, and she smiles at you regardless, even as you turn your back to her to begin walking away.

Unfortunately, graduation is not something enjoyed for long, even if you are finally saying goodbye to Instructor Ludolf, as the very next day, doom would strike.

The Colossal Titan would breach the walls of Trost.

* * *

Captain Woermann gives off an intimidating presence, just from his stature alone - but his expression is frozen into one of muted horror, even as he addresses the crowds of soldiers with as much tenacity as he can muster. His eyes are hollowed with grim reality, and even freshly graduated cadets are forced to stand among the seasoned soldiers who were being divided into four squadrons. Cadets were meant to be taking the middle guard, and would be led by the support squad, The intercept squadron taking the vanguard were among some of those who were holding back their terror a little better, but there's a smatter of soldiers cringing, looking to turn away, and some even vomiting from the fear of what was to come.

It is made worse when Captain Woermann tells them all just how bad it is out there.

"Rear squad will go to the elites! I expect all of you to man your posts knowing the Advance Team has been wiped out!" he roars, shivers and disbelief rocking the crowd instantly. The effect is immediate, and the fear in the air is quickly reaching its absolute apex - you can feel Dieter shaking like a leaf beside you, forcing you to lay your hand on his shoulder firmly - though it does little to quell it.

"That's right, the outer gate is history! The titans are in! This means that the armoured titan is likely to reappear, if and when he does, the inner gate will also be history,"

_\- Fuck - I can't -_

\- _this is a nightmare, this is a joke -_

_\- If this was one day later I'd be in Wall Sina - this isn't fair -_

The murmurs of various soldiers wash over you until its nothing but white noise, and it's only Woermann's voice that can break through it, crackling slightly under pressure.

"QUIET!" Woermann snarls, as he orders the vanguard to get situated, as their area is saturated and they have to defend the wall until the evacuation of as many civilians as possible is done. It is now that he reminds everybody that desertion is punishable by death, though that doesn't quite deter everybody, as there's many people still weighing up their options, seeing death as an inevitability regardless - you can practically hear Dieter's staggered breathing even without leaning closer to him.

"If it comes to it, lay down your lives! Dismissed!" rang through your mind - and made it very simple for you to make a choice when a senior Garrison soldier approaches you, demanding your presence in the Elite Squad under special orders of some higher up or another who clearly knew of your capabilities in field exercises if nothing else. 

Dieter practically bites the mans head off, no matter how unprofessional it is - and in truth, a lot of you doesn't want to leave Dieter's side, because you can't be sure he'll be safe without you there. Still, he's good enough that at least some of his skill warrants his status as a pick for an MP, even if a large amount of why he's there is entirely backdoor politics and bribery, you can trust that he knows how to retreat if he needs to.

It's still hard not to feel shitty about it, though.

"Just go, Dieter. Defend Lotte, she'll need the help," - men, deep down, want to be useful, even if they're not the strongest. These words seem to move Dieter appropriately though, and through clenched jaw, he salutes you and the senior ranking officer, before he sees you retreat.

"Fine, but don't you dare die on me woman!" he snarls as your retreating form.

_We'll see -_ you think grimly.

Titans in the wild are different to field exercises, and you let this be known to the man who'd grabbed you - Ian Dietrich, who freely tells you just how bad it is, because in truth, he doesn't want completely green, wet-behind-the-ears newbies who haven't even shed their sword emblems yet to be in the Elite Squadron, but the mass exodus is quickly falling apart, and the orders come directly from the top. It was you and Mikasa Ackermann who'd been specifically named out, along with two others he suspects might already be dead, as he'd pulled them in earlier.

It's not something Ian is happy with doing, but these are desperate times.

He sees more bloodshed in the Elite Squadron than he ever thought he might - the scouts are there, of course, but he quickly loses sight of you and Mikasa in the fray of wing-emblazoned capes trying to make sure the mass exodus doesn't completely fall apart. Mikasa, is, apparently, going directly to the source of the slowdown and blockage, and expertly takes down a small, deformed looking titan with such striking ease that for a moment, Ian feels as though there is at least a smidgen of hope to be found, no matter how small. 

You have no idea how the cadets are doing, to be honest, but you're just glad that your supply runners last as long as they had. Between all of the capable Scouts and Garrison present, there's a decent amount of titan bodies to show for it, but equally, a substantial amount have been crushed underfoot of larger 10-metre class monstrosities, and you'd seen at least one overly quick, likely abnormal, short little 8-metre class successfully swipe a member of the Elite Squadron from the air by their ODM cable and use it to feed them directly into their mouth.

There was just something so exceptionally cruel about it all, something you hadn't quite appreciated fully until just then. 

_They kill and eat, eat and kill, again and again, for what? Is it worth it?_

_Is any of it, worth it? You.... disgusting.... bastards....!_

"Cadet! I want you behind Kruger and-- hey, Cadet! I'm your commanding officer you get back here and follow orders!"

Shaking your head harshly, you run past Ian and a few soldiers who had taken pause briefly on a nearby roof, ignoring Ian's yells as he tries to instruct you where to go - the mass exodus is the most important thing, really - but to you? Well, the sooner these titans are dead, the sooner you can check on Dieter and Lotte. To tell the truth, there's a lot of people here who spoke about families and loved ones, and most of them likely didn't deserve to die, not like this - a grisly fate like this you'd only reserve for the lowest of the low. Titans, however, are indiscriminate and senseless, yet overwhelming in their propensity for destruction and chaos.

_Some of these people... are loved! You can't... ! Just... ! Hurt them like this! For no reason!_

You can feel your ODM pulled tightly against your entire body as you cut through the air cleanly, feet touching the ground and legs burning from the speed of your run. 

If nothing else, Ludolf had gotten you damn good at running, which was a necessity at this point - as you could feel gas getting dangerously low, and found yourself using natural propulsion and the wire retraction to get as much speed as you could from your running and jumping, something that hadn't gone unnoticed from some of the older elites who were occasionally flanking you.

"If I die here, after everything--!" you can feel your muted anger and distress finally boiling over, as though your bones simply couldn't take it as it came out as a rattling war cry, a scream that made your throat feel like rough sandpaper and even your voice cracked in the air as your toes barely hit the ceiling tiles of the flat roofs before you would once again jump forward, wires jutting from either side of your pelvis that had your body arching with force in the air. "I'll crawl out of hell and take you with me!" tears of anguish and physical stress creeping up and flying out of your open eyes and into the breeze as you felt your blades searing through the too-soft nape of the small titan that had claimed the scout who'd been soaring through on his ODM, only to be pulled and jerked backwards right into the titan's maw.

Ian is a blur now, all of them are, and in truth, you barely notice now that the amount of caped men and women around you had lessened considerably. Many had died, even more had fallen back on orders from commanding officers, but you'd made your nest around a bell tower of a church, as it stood decently high, and could quickly scan the surrounding area for fallen bodies. You've moved far enough away and disregarded enough of the general formation order too that you're likely on the outskirts of Trost, while titans besiege the northern most parts of the city, the ones who trickle down here are easier to take piece by piece as you try to work your way up to wherever the middle squadron of cadets may be.

You have reached the point of pilfering gas canisters and blades from the fallen, but at least their deaths and destroyed bodies weren't for total nought, you think grimly, tossing your now empty gas can in a pile on the ground of the church from the rooftop.

It was tactical, yet wasteful how you moved - and it felt like _hours_ had passed trying to get through these titans to get to cadet headquarters or wherever Dieter might be, your adrenaline refusing to let you take a break because if you do, you think you might collapse. You can feel every bone in your body burning and your clothes are damp with pure sweat and had become waterlogged in the blood of your comrades to the point your white shirt was now a muted shade of reddish-pink with only small splotches of sweat-clad white to show for it, your facial bandanna even weighed heavier on your mouth, diluted with bodily fluids, hair sticking to your forehead in strands.

_Can't stop I'll die if I stop I'll die if I stop I have to keep going until there's none left or I'll--_

You move in a way that lures two medium sized titans in the ten to eleven class range in the vicinity of the church, which is becoming your homing station for you to be able to jump in and out of tactical positions - and the way the city is laid out, it's easy to get the titans to follow a path that met at the semi-destroyed holy site. Gathering them in one place made it easier, rather than harder - and you had the bonus of both of them coming from different angles, so you could soar through the neck of one on the right, and then quickly, without pause, dig a grapple into the neck of the one approaching around the corner, narrowly avoiding its face as it leans forward with a chomping gesture, foot landing squarely on its shoulder before you guickly get yourself atop its head and slice through its neck.

"Y-you fucking - piece of shit - eat it all up, eat me up you bastard!" - a voice actually jars you out of your frenetic state, as it's been so long since you'd phased out the sounds of your screaming comrades that you actually see the source - the back of a brown-haired, likely male titan, which stood decently tall - probably one of the few bigger ones you've had to deal with. In truth, you'd been in combat at Trost so long at this point that any thrill of your first real titan kills, and the fact they had become unassisted as your brethren had fallen, hadn't even fully settled in on you.

_Someone's alive?_

"I'll be your poison - c-cut you out from the inside you fuck--" it sounded belaboured, and pained, but it had been... shit, how long has it been? Hours? Since you'd heard a human voice that you quickly dig a grapple into the back of the titan's neck and hurtle to it as fast as you can, having been locked in a state of desperate and pointless battle, screaming in the ruins and remains of Trost for so long that you think you might have lost just a little of yourself along the way, that the idea of anyone still being alive had lit something inside of you, because it was now that the amount of bodies you'd carelessly picked gas canisters and blades from finally set in.

"Monster!" 

It's a man, for sure, and without being able to see, you could guess he's probably hanging out of the titan's mouth - hopefully he hasn't bit down too deeply, and the man can use his ODM or this was all for nothing, but you have to take the chance. Blood flies in the air as you cut through the nape of the neck with a vindictiveness that hadn't been quite present in your glazed over, autonomous state that had washed over you in an effort to shield yourself from the horror befalling Trost. You hadn't even registered the sound of the stone wall's gate aching open to see that back up had, in fact, arrived. 

It hadn't even registered to you that there were people coming in to help, because you'd seen so many chewed in half bodies, congealed balls of titan vomit that were nothing but a mess of limbs and glazed over eyes that were devoid of all signs of life that in truth, you needed to hear human voices in order to be jarred out of that state. All you'd done is round up titans around the church and begin cutting them down almost pointlessly, because you don't think you have enough gas to reach wherever the cadets are, and all the canisters you're pinching were low on fuel and were scattered in the general area that you didn't want to wander too far out of.

Very quickly, this had become less about clearing them out just to see Lotte and Dieter, and more about clearing them out before your body gave up on you completely, because you're frightened that the second you stop fighting, you may not be able to muster the courage to do it again.

Part of you was also convinced they might be dead, and that thought alone was equal parts enough to drive this fevered state you'd gotten yourself in. It was, at this point, more than a little manic, and there was a scatter of blunt and cut off blades and canisters in an unceremonious pile around the church, which was now littered and half-caved by collapsed, steaming titan bones that filled the air with the stench of searing flesh and rot.

_"This one bites back!"_ you snarl out into the too-quiet air, which was now bereft of the legions of soldiers that had filled it with their rallying cries, and can feel how wet your eyes are again, you're not sure if it's relief or just pure distress or a mixture of both, but a flurry of green suddenly overtakes your vision, as you feel the titan cowing to its knees and keeling over, your grapple buried deep just beneath its sliced neck, combat boot feeling the heat beneath you as the brown-haired titan began to fall forwards.

As the titan falls forward, you look to your left and right - seeing pairs of more, and then forwards as the steam begins to part to see the sight of many, many Survey Corps mounted on horseback. You don't really absorb it though - the heat of the steam making them wavy and distorted in your vision, you merely take note of the fact the man who'd been alive had been taken out of the titan's mouth and was receiving some sort of medical help. 

"Soldier! You--" a strong, familiar voice reaches out to you through the steam, one you remember from the recruitment drive and only vaguely recognise as the scout commander, but you turn back and launch a wire back into the bell tower, which now had a lot of bits of brick jutting out or missing from how much your grapples had pierced through them. 

"Open the gates of Hell for me you ugly fucks! I'm coming home!" - your scream can be heard in the still airs as your grapple pierces directly for a building just past the short titan, and you suddenly feel the familiar sensation of caped, seasoned soldiers flanking you at either side. Your blades cut through its neck easily as your body turns in the air, twisting with a familiarity and practice that comes from the sheer amount of time and enjoyment you'd had with the omni-directional gear, and now that you knew just how soft titan flesh was, it was a lot less impossible-feeling to take them down, especially when you could cut through them like a hot knife through butter.

"You're ordered to fall back and support!" one of the voices - orders out to you - it's a male from the sounds of it, but you don't even turn, and simply boost the remainder of your gas out to the thirteen metre class titan that was none too far behind the first - and before you land on the building your grapple is lodged into, you retract it suddenly at the same time as pushing a singular one from your left hip, jutting it directly for the flesh of the 13 metre, landing squarely in its upper spine, and once your other retracted sufficiently you could aim it higher up, scaling up to its neck with your ODM - beginning to slice until you feel your left blade completely give and simply snap in its neck once halfway through slashing, and without the scissoring motion, your right blade - which isn't looking much better - is a little useless.

"My blades!" your voice comes out in a defeated scream, but you feel someone pulling you back with force as a grapple juts into your ODM gear at your sides and you're pulled backwards through the air until you land squarely into the chimney of a nearby building.

"Get out of my way!" the man says, though not quite rudely, but more out of a sense of urgency as he'd realised with speed that your blades had broken, and prioritised pulling you back while his squad leader focused on killing the 13 metre class monster.

A short, dark haired figure stands atop the 13 metre-class you'd tried to mount, having quite dangerously - and almost _unprecedentedly_ deciding to go from titan to titan without using a building or surface between usage of your omni-directional gear, it's a move that, to be honest, the Survey Corps reinforcements would expect only the seasoned elite to consider as even viable, let alone do it, but it's now that you feel pain reverberating through your back from the force of your impact. A tall man with a light brown undercut you could only see from behind is obviously the one responsible for pulling you back, and it's now that you're forced to watch mutely as members of the Survey Corps begin making their way through the remains of Trost to support. 

Getting to your feet shakily, not wanting your adrenaline to stop in case you really did just give in, you make your way back to your pseudo-base, the titan steam having cleared, and lower yourself to the ground where you can see some members of the Survey Corps mounted on horseback.

When your feet hit real ground, there's a tired sway in your movements, your body walking with an ungainly sort of jerk, feet inverted as though you're trying not to collapse on the spot, but instinctively you go to your pile of empty canisters and numb or shattered blades, miserably looking through the remains to keep going, because you can feel your frenzy starting to leave you, but the fear of reality hitting is almost too much to bare, your face mask heavy with blood, snot and tears. For a moment, you think you can hear a female scout laughing in the distance, and there's definitely distant noises of titans crumbling, but in this field of decaying titan bones, you sit on your pile of broken blades and feel defeat creeping.

"Soldier, is this your doing?" - you can hear the commander address you, a strange expression on his face, along with a few others.

How many hours had it been?

"Soldier, I'm talking to you," the tone isn't impatient, but almost - concerned? It doesn't quite register, however, and has a naturally authoritative shout to it that pierces through your mental fog, though you still don't address it. 

You let the remaining wisps of steam encase you, hands now either side of your shoulders as you're frantically searching your pile of discarded things, tears blotting the soil in dark little drops.

Before you can stop it, a scream leaves you as you try to find a second wind, desperately - one of these blades at least might be sharp enough - and with your right hanging in there, if you can get a kill in one swipe it'll be enough - and - your body is overcome with trembles, you can feel a soft, warm hand on your shoulder, and a delicate, gentle female voice brushing something off of your shoulder - narrowly you realise its your ponytail, which had also become bogged down with blood and bits of gore that had to be human, as all titans eventually decayed to nothing.

"One more -- " you can feel yourself snarling, head snapping up in the direction of the authoritative questioning, craning up to look at figures on horseback who had become an utter blur in your teary, watery, furious stare. "I can - I can kill one more - I just - " you're babbling now, and nothing is making sense, but you can feel a soft sort of hold around your shoulders as a shadow is cast over you, and a soft, pretty young woman gives you a onceover that barely sinks in.

"Sir, I think this is a cadet," she addresses the man on the white stallion, before turning to you, and there's some mortification in her tone that you cannot quite understand. 

"Hey, we're the reinforcements cadet," her tone is very soft, and unlike all of the ones you'd heard so far, but you still dont turn to her, and just feel your body overcome with exhaustion, even your own trembling was making you tired, and you were certain you probably looked horrendous - it's now - and only now - that you'd blinked out enough visible tears that you can make out the men on the horses. You don't know most of them, but the commander of the Survey Corps - flanked by likely other elite members of the corps. 

"I need more - need more gas - and - swords - I can still," you can feel your body rejecting your words as you choke out from behind your mask. "I can still fight," you insist, only for the woman to gently hush you the way one might hush a babbling child, because at this point, you're pretty close to that, even covered in as much blood as you are. Having picked through so many of your comrades corpses for more gear, there's flesh under your fingernails and your formerly white shirt is bogged down with blood to the point of almost being transparent enough to show the dark brassier which had also become logged with sweat and blood more than likely.

In truth, all of them are used to seeing blood and maiming in the field, but people covered in this much blood are usually dead. It's now that your shaking hand drops the shattered blade hinges and you try to ball it into a fist, struggling to do so a little after having it constantly clenched to the point of discolouration around a handle for so long, and it shows, because the fist is still a little open, and trembles miserably on your heart as you try to stand up and salute your superiors, the woman helping you up as you do so - and you end up leaning on her more than you'd like.

It's actually a little sad trying to watch you expend the effort.

"At ease," Commander Erwin says simply, causing your arm to instantly go slack as you stand miserably in front of the men, stance still awkwardly inverted and radiating a manic anguish that was both familiar but entirely unsettling to see on someone who'd only graduated the day previous, and didn't even have a regiment emblem yet.

"You've done enough cadet, thank you for assisting our brother, he's alive because of you," she glances at where the pile of bones were, which were now just a memory of burnt flesh and rot smell that still sat on the winds ever so slightly. "-Do you need any medical help?" - you turn to her now, and it's in this moment it sinks in.

_Wait..._

_She's the lady from the Special Operations Squad._

.. _huh?_

"I - don't think so," it comes out as an awkward sort of mumble, because you cannot seem to will yourself to stop shaking in her arms. What was her name? Petra R-something? "I'm just - " you feel your legs buckle a bit, but Petra catches you before you drop to both your knees at the hooves of the white stallion, and your entire, strong, short form sags completely.

"Everyone's dead and I couldn't stop or I'd never get back up again but I just kept going but they just kept coming and there's so many and I ran out of gas and our supply runners are dead and I had to loot our comrades and I-- and I -- " guiltily, and embarrassingly, you can feel fresh waterworks, and truly, you must look a damn awful sight, because you can feel this Petra woman gently hushing you and trying to walk you over to one of the horses so that one of the men can get you mounted.

"Shhh, sh, shhh. The Special Operations Squad is here with reinforcements, please, trust us to do our jobs cadet," Petra smiles, even if it's a little strained "-Can you tell us how bad up north is?" - you grimace at this, and close your eyes.

"Think HQ might be done for. Crawling with small titans on it. Probably smell cadets. Loads in the city. Been tryna lure em backwards but low gas - I'm - trying to get them in one place so I can... help... but there's - so many, and I'm - so tired - and everyone - everyone is dead and I don't - no supplies, no runners, no gas, no swords, and I - " it becomes disjointed again as you try to explain, but everyone seems to get the gist, and you hear one soldier exhale shortly at you and the pile of supplies you'd dumped on the ground, and having ridden up from a sudden, forced retreat by Erwin to go to the city and assist, he was now aware of how bad it could be.

"Think we're fucked," you mumble, only to feel Petra gently patting your back as the Captain comes into view.

"Shit. If you did all this yourself, I'll assume from the show, that's a yes, well done. You've done more than enough," the Captain looks up at Erwin, who glances to one of his men.

"Get her on a horse - Cadet, you'll ride with Eld, you're in no state to fight right now, take a moment to recover on the ride up, if you're not injured, we can use any help you have left to give us," - it's at this that, commander or not, a sort of ungainly noise leaves Petra's throat before she can stop it. The idea of sending you anywhere except behind a higher wall to get medical care and to have a moment of rest after what was likely hours of non-assisted fighting seems barbaric to Petra, but it's now that Erwin explains he's had the quick rundown from a Garrison messenger, that Ian Dietrich had been forced to pick out elite members of the graduating class to assist the rear guard of most skilled soldiers.

"This one might be a stray, or the sole survivor, either way, we're glad of your service," Erwin's tone is grateful, and if you had more of your wits, you might have suddenly gone quite demure at having it directed at you, but all you could do right then was let this Eld Gin person - a Special Ops member you also vaguely recall in your hazy state grab you, and feel yourself get hoisted onto his horse, hands forced to clamber around his waist. 

You must stink of blood, sweat and burnt flesh, but Eld just looks over his shoulder with a light smile.

"Hold on tight rookie, you're about to watch experts in action," he's trying to lighten the mood - at least a bit, but being this close to you, he can see how swollen and red your eyes are, just how thick the scent of blood is, and the tired, red cracks in the whites of your eyes.

You'd been a whirlwind of destruction, but you were utterly broken, that much was obvious, and yet Erwin still expected more fight out of you.

"If you've got the energy, you can be _support -_ just don't do anything silly or get in the way," Eld smiles, but you don't reply, gazing blankly ahead over his shoulder.

You're silent for a long while, until you finally crackle out something hoarse and coherent, but embarrassingly, it just comes out soft, and pleading.

"Thank you for coming Special Operations Squad, please don't die," _please._

There's something about the pleading nature in which it's uttered, despite you not knowing any of them personally, that renders the team quiet for a moment.

You're not sure you could bare it, and you need them alive at least long enough to see if Dieter or Lotte (or God be good - both of them) made it out alive.

"Have faith in us greenhorn!" It's the man who pulled you back from the 13-metre class who speaks, Oruo Bozad, who has a natural air of smugness about him as you all begin riding north to assist, some opting to follow along with their omni-directional gear from the rooftops. 

"You just sit pretty, and let us do the work," - it's Gunther who speaks this time, and it seems all of them are trying to, without directly opposing Erwin's words, at least discourage you from active combat unless it's utterly necessary. "-It's what we're here for right? You've been doing well on your own, but you're meant to learn from seasoned soldiers and ride support so you can learn without having to go in feet first by yourself. I know that's how it's had to be, because these bastards wont let up, but take a breather for a moment."

Petra smiles, a little more earnestly now when she sees you sag against Eld's body before you can stop it, promise in her tone.

"We've got this."


	2. All That Remains

_Chapter Two_

**All That Remains**

Erwin had cut short the Special Operations Squad mission to recover an abnormal titan a very short ways from the Wall when he received a missive and realised the titans were heading north for the city, fearing that a breach may have already occurred. By the time the scouting regiment backup arrives, however, Commander Pixis had gone about sealing the breach in Wall Rose, with what was defined as unprecedented means, but the ruins of Trost were still swarming with titans. You’re pressed with your face against the second-in-command’s back. You smell of blood, sweat and smoking titan flesh, but if the man whose leading the horse cares, he doesn’t say anything.

For a while you’re riding with your eyes shut, but you can hear Levi’s squad directing questions and surveying the damage. Trost is a wasteland the further in they get, but the man that Gunther recovered from the mouth of the 13-metre class titan your blade had snapped on was a lot more coherent considering he was actually injured. He’s a little wounded around his lower torso, where titan teeth held him in place.

“We were ordered to be part of the Elite rear guard after everything fell apart,” the man - whose named Niklaus Neumann, had a more clear perspective of what has been happening. “ - we had to do what we can to support the Garrison so they could plug the breach in Wall Rose. Most of our cadets are dead,” he glances over at you, slumped against Eld Gin’s back.

“I heard a rumour that they were able to reclaim the HQ, but I can’t substantiate it Commander, we were quartered off to find survivors and get any soldiers back to base as part of general clean up now there’s a controlled amount of titans locked into the city,” Niklaus lets out an agonised wheeze, which causes his bandages to discolour a bit more as more blood oozed into them.

“I saw this one leading titans to the outskirts and thought she was one of ours or something,” he chokes out, wincing.

His words stir you, and you wrench your eyes open to look over at him, seeing him riding and holding Gunther from behind on horseback, the pair of you looking worse for wear.

“They plugged the breach?” you mumbled, that’s the only thing you could hold onto - it seemed impossible, but maybe they managed. Perhaps the Garrison had some massive thing in their arsenal they rolled out in front of the Wall with all of the horses? Honestly, you couldn’t even begin to guess, but you look at the man blearily. He has mid length auburn hair, and eyes that are a soft shade of brown, probably in his mid twenties if you had to guess.

“Yeah - you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but they did. Something they’re peddling as some cutting edge science experiment of ours, shit, not that I know anything about it. They got a titan to block it - and I promise that’s not the blood loss talking. Wait till you get to base if you don’t believe me,” Niklaus says, because he can feel the skepticism and odd looks given to him most notably by Petra and Oruo.

“Neumann, how long have the titans been laying siege to Trost?” you can hear the Commander address the man who Levi recovered from the brown-haired titan’s mouth after you’d sliced its nape. It’s a poignant question, but one look at the overall situation and the disjointed state you were in, it was clear that the injured man actually had more of his wits together than you, because you genuinely couldn’t answer.

“They breached a few hours after you all went beyond the Wall, if the bastards weren’t so mindless I’d almost call it timed,” Niklaus grimaces, and then looks at you - eyes locking to yours that peeped through sweaty dark locks, cheek and mask pressed on your side to Eld’s back so you can look over at him.

“Civilians got evacuated as much as we could manage, but there were a lot of casualties before we thinned out what we could. The Garrison elite have been responsible for sealing the breach and trying to lure the titans in a certain direction. I - “ he winces again in pain as he feels his muscles ache where he was bitten, thankfully not deeply, but still.

“ - a lot of our brothers and sisters died in the evacuation effort. I was part of what’s supposed to be the clean up crew after the fact - to try and make your jobs easier since not a lot of the rear guard made it to base,” he coughs a little, and you look at him, a sensation of numbness overcoming you.

“You should have gone back to base, soldier,” Niklaus addresses you when he says this, but you just lt out a tired noise.

_Are Lotte and Dieter even alive? Did they make it to base? He would have been one of the ones at HQ right? God, I should have taken the risk and tried to get to him anyway. Stupid fucking gas tanks. I could have just rope swung and made it. I could have - I might have made it --_ a resentful thought passes through you, but the reality is, without gas to propel you, you’d have lost it just searching for Dieter and Lotte, not knowing where they went. In the moment, you’d calculated you were better off picking off titans and using the medium to low gas tanks you were able to pick from the deceased rear guards because it’d be better to go down fighting than it would be trying and struggling in vain to run towards people who may not even be alive, when you don’t even know where they are.

“I wanted to go and find my friends, but I last saw HQ overrun and most cadet squadrons were a mess and went in different directions. I had a quarter of gas left, so I stayed in an area where I could pick gas tanks from the rear guard. The church was tall enough - I could - I could see where the bodies were,” your voice comes out hoarse, and how cold and callous your words are hits you when they leave your mouth, but surprisingly, nobody rebukes you for it.

“If I was going to die I was going to pick off as many titans as I could and lure them away from where I was guessing any survivors might be headed to try and get to base so I could clear a path for anyone left. Once I found enough gas I was going to go myself - assuming I lived that long,” - and it’s Niklaus who interjects.

“Do you even know how long you’ve been out here?” he splutters hoarsely “ - most of the dead, injured and missing are accounted for by regiment already. You’ve must have been out here by yourself for a long damned time. It’s why I-- “ he grimaces in pain again as the gallops of the horse jostle his body in a way that actually hurts.

“I came when I saw you in the distance, I thought you were part of clean up,” he grumbles “ - instead I find a baby soldier screaming in the ruins of Trost all by ‘erself - are you seriously just a cadet?” there’s a sense of disbelief in his tone, but so many people are dead, and you’re so exhausted that you cannot bring yourself to feel any particular way about it. You cannot even really feel proud of whatever it is you’ve achieved today, if anything.

“Yes sir,” you murmur, even though he isn’t high rank, he _has_ a rank, which is more than you can say for yourself as an non-regimented cadet, so you defer to him with more respect than most baseline members of the army get.

“Psh. Stupid,” he grumbles - and no one corrects him on this - “-don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you were here, I’d be dead otherwise, but you shouldn’t be operating alone, you will always - without fail - be stronger with your comrades,” - and though he’s not one for casual conversation, it’s Eld who interjects, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you, seeing your face forced to nestle into his back, but as most of it is covered by a dirty mask, all he can see is sweat-soaked hair and blood smeared over the small bits of skin he can see.

"He's right, you know."

You really did look like Hell.

“I wasn’t alone,” you whimper out - though you had ignored Ian Dietrich, you hadn’t gone utterly rogue, just disagreed with his priorities, and opted to focus on titans over evacuation.

“Not at first,” your eyes close again, and it sinks in as they ride past bloody smears on the ground and torn Wings of Freedom bearing cloaks that the scouts who had made up so much of the rear guard had been decimated, just as badly as the Advance Team had.

“The rear guard bit the dust as hard as the Advance Team, the scouts have been thinned by at least a third if I had to guess since we got divvied into the two highest mortality groups - advanced front and elite rear guard,” is the last thing you register from Niklaus before everything just becomes a wash of voices in the dark behind your closed eyes, your exhausted trembles slowly subsiding against Eld and settling into just a sensation of being overall drained of energy and weak.

“Hey,” it’s Eld who speaks after a while, and you feel him move, which jars you into having your eyes open, gingerly letting go of his waist so that he can dismount.

“If you still need rest, stay with the horses,” he says after taking one look at you. “We’ve got some stragglers,” - when it became obvious just how long you’d been separate from the destroyed squadrons, there seemed to be a silent, unanimous agreement to let you rest alongside the injured Niklaus. The clean up crew had done a remarkable job, all things considered, as judging from just how many titans were headed north on their ride up, it could certainly be worse than just a few 8 to 12 metre class titans scattered over the ruins of the city.

“N- no, it’s fine I can keep up,” feeling your bones ache with exhaustion, you jump off of the horse and land awkwardly on your feet with far less grace than Eld. Staggering to full height, you turn and look to the supply cart a little ways behind all of the men on horseback behind the commander. It’s packed to the brim with no room to sit - but had plenty of spare blades and gas tanks. The Commander did say to lend any help you could give, but he turns his head and looks at you as you slouch your way to the supply cart, grime matted fingernails reaching to refill your low tank supplies mutely.

“I won’t hold you back,” is all you say - voice filled with promise, even though you’re crackly and hoarse, and compared to the scouts who’d gone beyond the walls, look in far worse shape, having dealt with such a dense population of titans in the city, with no one left to support, it’s now that Erwin briefly reconsiders his order for your assistance.

“Cadet,” he calls out - which makes you walk over to the white stallion he’s riding with a sense of nervousness.

“Commander,” standing at a measly 4”9 - the man is that much more imposing on his horse, and you have to put your hand over your eyes to keep the sun out as you gaze up at him. If you weren’t a slew of inner turmoil and emotional desertion, you’d be more nervous, but right now - you cannot find the strength to be demure in this strange situation.

“Change of plan, get back on a horse and watch over Neumann, I’ve got a few questions,” he instructs you to ride closer, and you look at Niklaus - whose struggling to stay mounted on Gunther’s horse now that the man had dismounted and readied to follow Captain Levi and the others towards the errant, remainder titans in Trost.

“Yes sir,”

Eld's horse rides alongside the white stallion, and in any other situation you'd have felt meekly awkward, but right now, were more in a state of glazed over numbness. Your eyes would flicker to the Special Operations Squad, hanging on how the Captain and the man who'd thrown you back with such speed and precision when he realised your blades had broken - who'd you'd learned was Oruo Bozad, cut through titans with a kind of renegade effortlessness. Eld and Petra were moving together, though, along with Gunther, all of them assisting each other whilst you heard an echoing, female giggle that bordered deranged in the distance - Hange, apparently. Many of them were names you'd vaguely heard of, or were just faces you'd seen riding into the cities after expeditions beyond the walls, observing from the crowds of gawking onlookers on the occasion you were in town on an errand when they came back from missions. It would be surreal, to be standing in their company, watching them in action like this, and true to their word, the Special Operations Squad were experts at titan slaying.

Sidling next to the white stallion, you look around at the ruins of Trost, more alert than you'd been in a while - at least, when it came to actually soaking in your surroundings outside of the lumbering titans. You'd known of Commander Erwin, of course. Everybody knew _of_ him, and often he would do recruitment drives, he was the perfect face of the Survey Corps. Tall, strong, a natural orator who commanded respect with little effort and a piercing voice that could be both authoritative and wholly empowering.

For a few years, he'd been nothing but a distant figure you'd been vaguely aware of, like the Premier, or the King or something. Well. For most the part.

You did have a recruitment drive poster on your wall that detailed the regiment hierarchy some, with a heavy slant towards the Survey Corps - but they're so under subscribed that once upon a time, they expended decent funds into promotions and public relations after so many civilians had been forced into a poorly disguised culling as an attempt to reclaim Wall Maria. On that poster is an expertly drawn and slightly younger seeming Erwin Smith, standing atop the hierarchy, the poster itself oozing a sense of righteousness. It was something that Lord Wolfgang had given to you, once upon a time, when he'd had it explained to you why your blood father wasn't around any more.

He had quite proudly died for the Survey Corps, and keeping that poster did help you feel closer to your roots, your real roots, however distant they may be.

Now that same man was asking you questions, and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at him - unable to fully shake yourself out of your scattered fugue state. It was clear that you'd been among those who'd been in the thick of it during the fight for Trost, and the cost of surviving it was looking as utterly crushed as you were. He's asking you things about what had transpired - but in truth, it's Niklaus whose interjecting for most the part, as your eyes are scanning the crumbling buildings and bloody, fleshy smears that littered the ground and rubble.

"Eight or nine, I don't know," you reply to him when he asks how many titans you had faced and routed to the church, but in truth, you had lost count at some point because in an effort to shield yourself from the horror of so many people being picked off around you, you slid into a state of autopilot, losing a lot of time in the process, as well as your overall grip of the wider situation.

"Thirteen," Niklaus croaks out, tilting his head towards the commander with a painful click of his joints.

"Thirteen that I counted when I started noticing her in the distance," Niklaus grimaces, rubbing his eyes and looking back at you, as he's unable to see the commander's unreadable expression, but does hear a muted, sharp intake of breath from one of the soldiers flanking to support those staying on horseback. 

"Cadet, I'd like to--" the scout commander addresses you, but you pull away - jerking the reigns of Eld's horse suddenly and without warning, forcing it to veer to the left, facing away from the group as you spot something from the corner of your eye. You can see a figure a short ways away, steeped in wooden beams and stony rubble, but still moving. It's the movement that had caught your eye, and instantly you lead yourself away, reflecting a disregard for the sense of decorum in the wake of the wasteland you were riding through, and just how deeply entrenched you were in it.

Honestly? Respect and ranking was the last thing on your mind, and you blurt out "Hold on," without even thinking about the way you're speaking to the man, and you do not wait for permission, riding towards the figure. 

Upon getting closer, you see a familiar head of hair, and your stomach drops - it's someone from your training group. Whilst you may not be particularly close to them, you did spend a good three years being repeatedly exposed to all of them, and it's difficult not to feel something when you see one of your own in harms way. Thankfully, it isn't Dieter or Lotte, but it's someone who, at the very least, treated you the same way he treated everybody else, and by extension, made you feel just a little more normal when it felt like for the longest time, you weren't.

"Longinus?" you call out hesitantly, and the man jerks his head up. His arms are trapped under a collapsed building, and horrifyingly, a large, thick, wooden beam is sticking out through his entire torso, impaling him completely, the material itself soaked in blood and flecks of flesh and organ that had been jerked out of him as he'd been thrown back onto it. The closer you get, the more blood you can see - mostly around his mouth as he lets out a watery grin, and you see blood coating his teeth, more sputtering out as he tries to speak.

"Hey little Treasure," - it's one of the nicest names anyone had called you, as you were usually Tin Teeth, Metal Mouth, Scrapyard or something of that nature, Longinus was a renowned flirt and whilst he didn't seem to feel any particular way towards you, rather than slide in with a mean spirited sort of name, he'd joked your mouth was so valuable you're a little _treasure_ \- in a lighthearted sort of way, as he seemed to have nicknames for most of the training group. Admittedly, you'd turned scarlet the first time he'd called you that, but right now? 

Right now, it just kind of hurt, because Longinus Weiners actually treated you just like all the other girls he flirted carelessly with - and it had been nice.

Nice to be normal, ish.

You dismount your horse, feet hitting the ground and run up to him, resisting the urge to balk when you see just how much of him was scooped onto the wood beam and watched as he cringed in pain, blood down his lips and chin from the fact that it was slowly filling his throat and lungs. 

"Oh God - what - " you shake your head, the what isn't important, it's the now. "- Fuck!" it slips out before you can stop it.

Because really. 

_Fuck._

"Mm. My tho-thoughts exactly," he grimaces, and closes his eyes. He can see the shadow of what he thinks is Commander Erwin coming up behind you hesitantly, but remaining a respectful distance when it becomes apparent to the horseback Survey Corps that you know this poor man who, for all intents and purposes, was already dead. One look at him was evident of that, the only real option here being a quick death, or a slow one - either way, the man's in horrific agony, and mercy killing isn't something endorsed by the army, no matter how dire the straits.

"Nice t'see ya 'live Treasure Teeth," he murmurs, and then lolls his head with a painful sort of movement so that his ear crashes into his shoulder, giving you a look of delirium and agony.

"Do uz a favour willya?" he manages, looking up at you blearily through his eyelashes "-reach - r-reach in my left pocket - and just, gimmie those pills," he coughs, and more blood splutters - but this time, you're so close that it lands on your brown jacket, adding to the maroon you're covered in.

You wonder for a moment, if the agony of dying had gotten to the man, but your grimy hands reach into his jacket anyway, eyes never leaving him, until you shakily pull out a small metal tin, which, upon opening, is filled with a handful of circular, perfectly pressed little blue pills that you vaguely recognise from the little carved symbol on them. Out of instinct, you snap your head back over your shoulder briefly to where Commander Erwin is - and he leers over you from horseback at such impressive height that you cringe a bit and the instinctive urge to cover the tablets flares up, but the man doesn't react, merely raising a brow.

"Pills? W-wha.. why do you have coderoin?" - but all your question earns is a roll of the eyes from him, and for a second, his bleary stare glances up over you to the looming presence of the commander, before back down to you.

"Shit, I was gonna party after graduation buh - r-right now, I'd settle for just," he screws his face into a pained grimace "-not being in fuckin' agony. I can die slow or fast, I mean - n-not for nothin' but I'm kind of--" glancing down numbly at the beam sticking out of his body, and then directly into your eyes.

"I'm kinda fucked, no?" he croaks.

"We - we can - " you wanted to say _we can get help -_ but that's a lie, and the words die on your lips at the look that Longinus gives you.

" _You_ can save me a pain in the... everythin' is what ya can do - just... pretend it's candy. I'd rather black out and not wake up than feel anymore blood filling up my lungs babe," - it seemed that three years of teasing over his name had turned Longinus into a bluntly confident man, that, and the adrenaline that came with being on the absolute cusp of death must have been getting to him, because he was being far more brazen than even you had known him.

"Not the f-first 'mpression I'd ....like to make on a commander but," he opens his eyes, and gives a bitter, misplaced grin that doesn't suit his naturally sweet features. "- I'd also like not to be fuckin' dying."

You bite your lip, and look up at Commander Erwin, hands trembling a bit around the tin of pills in your hand. This was probably breaking some kind of rule - but his expression is impassive and unreadable, until a short, unsure whimper escapes from under your face covering that has him shifting his expression to a somewhat more gentle, and approachable one. Commander Erwin is, of course, very aware of self-medication and general substance abuse in the army, but in truth, he'd never quite seen it so bluntly, or seen coderoin just effortlessly waved under his nose, but considering the situation, he cannot bring himself to try and feel any kind of judgement about it.

"I'd salute ya but --" he wheezes, for some reason, Longinus is still trying to make this seem lighthearted, as though he isn't in tremendous agony with tears streaming down both cheeks and blood around his mouth. " - I can't feel my arms."

"Sh-shut up, shut up you stupid boy!" you snap, because more blood is spilling out his lips every time he tries to make light of what's happening.

_Just shut up!_

"Can't you see you're making it worse?" you cry out, but he just shoots you a defeated, wonky grin. It's now that Commander Erwin interjects, because he's already ridden into what was perhaps a personal sort of moment, even though the pair of you aren't terribly familiar, it's obvious there is some sort of preexisting relationship, but even with the male cadet pleading to be stuffed with illegal narcotics he definitely should not have, no one deserves to die this sort of long, slow painful death, and being a titan's collateral damage is its own kind of thankless death, the kind that never seems like it's acknowledged quite the same as those who fall in battle.

"Cadet, I'm truly sorry that this is how we've met," he actually dismounts as he talks, and walks next to you, his impressive height forcing him to take a knee so he can look the delirious, agonised young man in the face. "- and that you're being robbed from us before we've truly had the privilege of your time. But thank you for not deserting us. You wouldn't be here if you had, and you have my utmost respect," he murmurs, and then surprisingly, turns to you.

You don't really know a thing about Commander Erwin as a person, but he takes one look at your unsure eyes and then the trembling tin in your hands, and just nods once at Longinus.

"Medical would do nothing but try to give you a painless journey, but the situation being what it is, this is the next best thing," one thing a commander does do, as a matter of course, is make the hard and tough decisions, and right now? He decides to make it for you, because that is Commander Erwin's job, and he has heard everything Longinus has had to say.

This brave boy is taking his death on the chin with more dignity than most men twice his age, and he can respect that.

"This in mind, Cadet, please hand those to me," he glances at Longinus, and you swear you see a flash of pity in those cool, sapphire eyes as he gestures to the pills in your hand. This jars you, and you realise quickly that the Commander is willing to relieve you of your burden, but you shake your head.

"Ah, no, I'll do it sir - he's my -- " well, he wasn't your friend, but he had been in your training group, and he'd treated you with the same light flirtiness he'd treated all the girls, even when he got teased for it. You jerk your head away from the blond, who raises himself to full height when you say this, and slowly steps back, watching as you hesitantly sort through the pills, hands clasping Longinus' jaw with a kind of delicateness that was almost reverential despite how much distance was between you interpersonally.

You trail off, and watch as he lifts his tongue, sliding coderoin into his mouth one by one.

"He was nice to me," it's soft, quiet, and almost a little lame to your own ears, but when Longinus swallows, he gives you a relieved sort of look, catching your words as you'd said them, letting the relief of the morphine-like euphoria that was creeping up his spine and taking the edge off of the state of prolonged agony he was in.

"Thank you for being nice to me," you repeat, with a sharp inhale through your nose, wishing you knew _anything_ substantial about Longinus to say, because you could feel tears stinging your eyes again even though you thought you might have cried enough that you'd have run out completely, and unlike the Commander, you cannot effortlessly summon up some pretty words to say.

"Mm..." he lets out a long, relieved sort of sound that also acknowledges what you say as he lets his eyes fall shut once his pupils begin noticeably dilate.

"No sweat, little Treasure."

And then the light dims in his eyes as they fall shut, and a quietness resettles over Trost.

You feel your legs lose their strength and cave under you, knees knocking into each other as you land firmly on your backside, looking up at the now limp body of the familiar cadet that leered above you. No one moves you, either - just letting you stay there for a moment as you try to control your breathing again, as it's becoming heavier and belaboured, before you shakily get to your feet, wiping your eyes on the back of your sleeve, dropping the metal tin with an unceremonious clatter that echoed over the emptying battlefield.

"We need to keep going," you mount Eld's horse, and turn away from the wreckage, seeing that the rest of the Special Operations Squad - or at least most of them, had taken out the titans they could see, and had remounted their horses, and were looking on quietly.

Nobody says anything to you for the rest of the ride, though Eld looks at you briefly, opens his mouth as if to say something, but falls quiet when you glance away from him, trying to smother your tears discreetly in your sleeve as he takes the reign of the horse. Right now, he thinks the best thing he can do is not point out how upset you are, and merely let you bury your face into his back - if that provides any comfort at all, as you'd managed to get remarkably comfortable earlier, at least.

"Hold on tight, okay?" is all Eld says, but his voice - it takes on a much more gentle tone than you'd heard from him compared to before. "We've cleared the titans that're left, so we're just going to head back now,".

Petra's soft voice is the last thing you bother to register, burying your face into Eld's back as he rides forward.

"We'll be at base soon, everything's going to be alright."

_Because sometimes, you just need somebody to tell you everything is going to be alright._

_Even if nothing is alright, and that's just a lie._


	3. The Choice

_Chapter Three_

**The Choice**

The ride to base camp is uneventful, but the carnage of Trost speaks for itself, filling the silence with a sense of unspoken dread. The Special Operations Squad are intimately familiar with this sort of carnage, but on a scale like this - it hasn’t been seen since the fall of Wall Maria, and the devastation wrought to Shiganshina.

For you, it’s a first, though - as you don’t really remember too much of your life before you were moved from pillar to post, out of sight - out of mind, and forever the plaything of Lord Wolfgang. You remember being caught up in the refugee crisis, when your father did not return from the culling, and the period of famine. A lot of those memories were intangible and distant, but they were still there - but would soon be overshadowed by your years of service to nobility, and the horrors that would follow.

The Special Ops crew largely talk amongst themselves, with only Niklaus occasionally interjecting to fill in missing gaps. The damage done to Trost is extensive and seemingly endless, but by the time they reach base - the inner, undamaged part of Wall Rose, the commander is immediately taken aside to be briefed by some members of the Garrison about the detainment of Eren Yeager, the so-called science project that Neumann had mentioned.

The commander does, however, briefly take pause to glance over his shoulder when you dismount alongside Eld, and begin staggering towards the clusters of slumped over, exhausted soldiers. Most of them are seasoned members of the Garrison, but there’s a smattering of cadets with hollow stares and blank expressions scattered amongst them.

A few heads turn at the presence of the Special Ops crew and Commander Erwin, and those closest manage to salute, but there is a heavy, grim atmosphere that nobody even attempts to temper around the presence of these high ranking, and somewhat famous soldiers.

There are ripples of disdainful whispers and looks, relieved barely factored in - because a lot of it was a quiet, resentful air of simply - _where the fuck were you when we needed you?_ The siege to Trost happened whilst they were on a planned expedition beyond the walls, and though the Special Operations crew couldn’t be blamed for that, it was difficult for a lot of soldiers to want to look at them.

“Thanks,” you manage a firmer salute against your chest as you dismiss yourself out of their company, as they’re standing by to await orders from Erwin once he’s been briefed of the situation in more detail. You feel the eyes of soldiers on you as you begin to walk away - you manage a few steps, but the sight of somebody caked so thoroughly in human blood was instantly causing a ripple of whispers - before someone yells out from a cluster of soldiers.

_“There she is!”_

You don’t recognise the voice, but you do recognise a familiar head of platinum silver hair barrelling out from the cluster you were facing, shoving past two seasoned Garrison soldiers. It about snaps you out of your fugue state when you register it was Dieter, feeling a wave of relief hit you from top to bottom, the force of it was almost enough to make you keel over.

_He’s alive._

“Oh my God - oh my ** _ **God!**_** You made it, you actually made it - I thought - we thought - “ it comes out as broken, disjointed white noise to your ears.

“Dieter,” your voice dry, aching and tired - even though you had stopped shaking and trembling, the exhaustion in your body is almost tangible. You feel his hands nervously touching your shoulders and grime-covered cheeks, fingers brushing the amalgam of blood, dried snot, tears and general debris that had managed to stick dirt to your face.

“We thought you were dead,” Dieter warbles out, his expression shifting as he reaches down for your face - leering over you at 5”8 in height.

He jerks down your face mask so that it falls to your neck - one of the few people who has the authority to do so without evoking a severe and visceral reaction. The bottom half of your face is completely clean, but juxtaposes just how long you’ve been out in the ruins, and only makes the streaks of blood and dirt around your eyes, upper cheeks and nose seem that much more severe,

After his fingers lightly press into your cheeks, as though affirming you’re real, you see the relief flash into something else in his pale, green eyes. You sense it before it happens - but you just stand, almost slack, still shaking off the edges of numbness. It feels like everybody pauses, or maybe it’s just in your head because of just how close everybody is. Tensions are still running high, even though the battle for Trost is over and the wall is plugged, and the presence of the late arrival of Levi’s squad isn’t helping. Maybe it all just boiled over, or Dieter was just so wrapped up in the fact you’re standing in front of him that the world feels like it’s reduced to just you two.

He doesn’t care that there are superior officers there, or a commander, or anybody who could get between you two, because to him, you are family.

The left side of your face throbs, and the sound of his open palm hitting flesh feels like it’s echoing throughout the base, even though it couldn’t possibly be so loud. It’s enough to pull you completely from your exhausted fugue state, dark eyes widening to soak in his furious, watery expression.

“You stupid fucking idiot! I thought you were dead! _I mourned you!_ You should have come back to base! Where the Hell have you been? I thought - we thought you were dead! Eaten! Crushed! Because you decided to run off and be a hero?” He’s shouting at you - right in your face, and spit is practically flying, but you can see now just how disturbed the man had been left at the prospect of you dying.

“What the fucking fuck were you thinking? _Were you thinking?_ ” - it’s at this, a female voice - one you recognise, seeing a head of brown hair coming up behind him, jerking him back with enough force that he almost falls flat on his backside.

“Alright rich boy, calm down, if she didn’t run off and _play hero -_ I never would have made it to base, same for at least a third of us, so you wanna give it a rest already? Because you’re having a domestic in front of all of our superior officers and I’m getting vicariously embarrassed,” her tone is sharp, and utterly acidic, but for once, not directed at you.

It is none other than Maria Weber, and never would you have expected her to defend you.

“Just be glad she’s alive and stop being so ungrateful,” she bites out, before glancing at you, hands planted firmly on her waist.

“Thanks for saving our asses out there Tin Teeth, seriously,” she pauses, as though her own words finally hit her when she stares at the miserable state you’re in, cheek lightly bruising as you pull your facial covering back up.

The natural acerbic demeanour she had seemed that much harsher out loud in front of all of these people who weren’t part of the training group you’d all shared. Instinctively, Maria feels the urge to temper herself, conscious of the presence of all those earshot, and visibly cringes, because she’s not the only one who noticed your rallying efforts to pull titans away from evacuation routes.

“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” it comes out almost as an afterthought, because she feels suddenly quite awkward as you stare at her through sweat and dirt heavy locks.

“For what?” this rattles you, because the idea of Maria Weber apologising to you for, well, anything, was surreal in an of itself, and made you wonder briefly if you’d just passed out in the ruins of the city and would wake up at the foot of a titan. You’re visibly confused, even behind your face covering, the emotions are clear in your hoarse tone and broken stare.

Maria gives your miserable appearance one more once-over, aware of just how many soldiers were thankful for what you’d done, treads carefully.

“Everything,” she exhales shakily, before turning away from you and Dieter.

“Now I really have gone and lost my marbles, did Maria Weber just apologise? Of her own freewill?” Dieter gawked after her retreating form, shaking his head slowly, equally confused.

“That’s it, the world’s truly gone mad. Maria Weber actually apologised for something and apparently my little-big sister is the Hero of Trost,” Dieter scoffs, running a hand through his hair with a put-upon sigh, before reaching forward to pull you into a bone-crushing embrace, that had your face and nose squashed into his body.

“The what?” your voice, muffled against his body and mask.

_The what of Trost?_

* * *

The casualties are innumerable, and so much of the population has been thinned just by what happened in Trost alone that sealing the breach could not be considered the victory for humanity that the army was desperately to push out, to give a sense of relief to the areas immediately effected by the small spillover of refugees and survivors. Lotte Becker survived, having stayed close to Dieter for the majority of the battle for Trost, and without asking, she threw her arms around you when she finally saw you, neither of you speaking. By now she's heard what people are saying, but she has the good sense after being your roommate for three years not to begin incessantly chattering about it. In fact, she seems to be doing her best to return to some feeling of normalcy, for both of your sakes.

Cadets who survived are given a window of reprieve in order to help clean up effected areas and round up survivors, and tend their own wounded, many black letters being sent home to those who were missing and presumed dead, or confirmed deceased. The choosing of regiment had been delayed in light of all the events that had taken place, so graduating classes had a few nights left with what few of their classmates had survived, and had to adopt to suddenly much emptier feeling dormitories, the belongings of the dead quietly being sifted through. Shrines are erected where bodies cannot be recovered, but the list of casualties is so long that it's almost impossible to stomach looking at.

Instructor Ludolf even leaves you alone.

Lotte brushes her fingers through your hair in the women's showers and watches as grime and blood circles the drain as she washes your back. She'd wager she's one of few to get this sort of close to you, but after the battle, it felt like one more wall you'd put between yourself and the world had to come crashing down, because so much of you had been left to suffer in the ruins of Trost that she couldn't bare the sight of letting you keep going like that. She brushes your hair with all the familiarity of an older sister that by all rights, she shouldn't have, but takes it all completely into stride when you sit slack on the bed. When you close your eyes, you think of Longinus's bloodied grin, maroon staining the whites of his teeth and coming up viscerally between the cracks like an eruption of water through a dam. The man who'd been so easily swallowed whole by a jumping titan - snuffed out like a candle in an instant, the countless casualties all balled in up an absolute mess of limbs and body parts after a titan regurgitates them into a careless ball, as if they hadn't been worth anything.

It's impossible to sleep, and it's like that for a lot of the cadets - who stay up talking late into the night. You yourself have no motivation for the hobbies that would usually occupy the aching space in your chest and drown out how unbearable the silence of your own thoughts are. The rumours are rampant though - there's a special military tribunal happening deep in the interior regarding the life of apparent science-experiment Eren Yeager, the titan boy - yes, _titan boy_ \- who apparently was the reason they were able to plug the hole in Trost's wall.

"Commander Erwin and Captain Levi want to see you before they leave for the interior," a harried girl who you vaguely recognise as Rita says, having apparently ran all the way to you without pausing, looking decently frazzled at having being addressed by people of such superior ranking. "They sent for me to get you - they're in the staff cabin," - she exhales, hands on her knees as she pants to catch some air.

Lotte has finished brushing your hair at this point, and glances to your still hanging recruitment drive poster that had been hanging over your bed for the better part of three years, a weak grin tugging at her lips. She swings her feet off the end of the bed, leaning her shoulder into yours with a demure attempt at humour.

"Lucky you," she smiles weakly, but you barely register it, until you follow her stare to your poster - featuring a younger Erwin Smith and bold, demanding font text that took up most of the page - _for humanity, for freedom, for hope, support your armed forces to support your people._

You grimace a bit, remembering your casual disrespect, or rather, the lack of propriety you'd had in Trost around one of the most powerful men in the military. What could he want? More details about Trost? He probably got more detailed reports from the Garrison and whoever his upper rank contacts are. Niklaus Neumann had been far more useful in that respect too - and truth be told, with a bit more clarity, rest and food in your stomach, you found yourself cringing a little bit at the state the Special Operations Squad had found you in. What would Captain Levi want, for that matter? You frown, and look at Rita, who just shrugs.

"Dunno, you're Hero Girl though, so," she trails off and shrugs "- it's probably nothing," though she sounded dubious of her own words, she plays it off like it could just be to thank you, which you suppose is a possibility. 

"I can come with you and stand outside," Lotte offers, nudging you a bit as she fixes the part in your hair, taking the hair ties from you so it wouldn't knot around your ponytail and could air dry properly and naturally. Her touch is one that is naturally doting, it's almost uncomfortable how tender she is, and how natural it is for your eyes to fall shut when she gently tweaks your appearance, as if she'd been doing it her entire life.

"I'll be fine," you say, frowning "-I'll have to stop off at the boy's cabins and see Dieter after any way," you were overdue some quality time with your would-be sibling, anyway. That slap had definitely jarred you out of your strange self-absorbed state of thinking you mattered very little to anybody, because in truth, you knew Dieter would be sad if you died, but you thought he might compartmentalise it, and not be quite so frazzled to the point of backhanding you and yelling at you for your suicidal actions. It made you think you owed the kid a little bit more of your time and care than normal, as he's a lot more sensitive about you than you ever really bothered to acknowledge until that moment.

You could do with a quiet walk anyway, because it felt like everybody was crawling into your personal space all of the time.

_How many did you kill Metal Mouth?_

_Bet ya gave it to em real good!_

_Which regiment are you joining?_

_I owe you my life Hero Girl--_

_Will you go out with me some time--?_

It was enough to make you sick to the gills, and very quickly the attention had become unwelcome in how overwhelming it was, even when it was positive. It was clear to anybody who knew you that you weren't good at parsing through it, as very quickly you would clam up or struggle to finish a conversation because you weren't sure who to reply to. You were used to slipping into the background, or getting attention one person at a time, with focus and planning, but this change in how you were being treated by your graduating class was almost too much to bare. 

Enough to the point that being summoned by imposing authority figures was almost welcomed.

Still, there is a sense of anxiousness you can't quite beat when you arrive at the cabin and get guided to the appropriate room. Thankfully, Instructor Ludolf had vacated the area, which you are glad of because you're uncertain if the man would have anything positive to say to you at all, or how you'd even cope if he did. Maria Weber's change of heart was jarring enough, and right now you were desperate for something to stay the same and to return to some sense of routine, something that Lotte had managed to pick up on and try her hardest to assist with. There's a few passing stares as you walk past some cadets on your way there, a few acknowledge you, some cautiously stick a hand up to wave in a manner they wouldn't have bothered with prior to graduation. You just nod at them awkwardly, before knocking hesitantly on the wood door ahead of you when you hear Erwin and Levi's voices talking quietly on the other side.

"Enter," - Commander Erwin's voice rings out clearly, causing you to suck in a long gulp of air before you enter.

_Try and conduct yourself with more decorum than you did in Trost, you absolute mess._

In this moment, you're quite glad you had Lotte take care of your appearance, and feel a lot less bedraggled than you would otherwise. Your hair feels fluffy and light, if a little bit damp still, falling loosely down your back and your uniform is swapped for something a little more casual, as none of the cadets are in active hours right now, so you shuffle in feeling a little under-dressed in a polo shirt and dark trousers. Captain Levi is still in full uniform, along with Commander Erwin, whose sat behind Ludolf's desk, and looks so natural doing it you'd think it was his own office.

Levi stands a little to the side, arms folded beneath his cravat, eyes lingering on you as you enter and place yourself in the chair. You grimace as your feet suspend off the ground a bit - because Ludolf's office chairs always felt like they were made just to be a little bit more demeaning, and every memory you have of being sat on this particular chair is not a good one, as all it does is make you feel impossibly small under the casually intense gaze of the Captain and the Commander. Your posture slopes downwards on instinct at the familiar sensation of being in Ludolf's office, and you instinctively clasp both hands together to stop you kneading your hands nervously.

"Thank you for joining us, I just wanted a chance to speak to you before we left for the interior - after you'd gotten some rest," his tone is surprisingly gentle, but carries a natural firmness, much the way he had spoken to you and Longinus out in the wastes of Trost. You nod, because you don't trust your voice right this second, and just glance cautiously between Levi and then Commander Erwin. It's just as surreal as riding through Trost with them, but in this small office, it feels that much more intimate than it had been out in the city. A week ago you'd have been freaking out a lot more, you think - and you'd be getting ribbed mercilessly by Dieter over the fact you were in such a nervous sweat over being in the same room as the same man whose face you'd woken up to for years.

To be honest, the slight crush had disappeared so long ago that it didn't really merit much thought, but the sheer imposing nature of the two powerful men was enough. You had your share of powerful men, of course, being associated with the Wolfgangs, but army men are not nobility - and the rules are different - what you could get away with as a ward of Wolfgang was not the same as an unregimented cadet.

"I know this has been said before, but I want to thank you again, personally, for your services in the field, recruit," he steeples his fingers together and looks at you appraisingly, and for a moment, you feel somewhat exposed as he does so.

"We've been taking testimony from some of the evacuees of the elite guard that made it to base from Trost," Levi interjects seamlessly, making it clear for his reasons for being there as he jumps straight past the niceties that Commander Erwin was aiming for, but he doesn't stop the man, his blue gaze merely flicking over to him as he speaks, not moving his head from your general direction. "Between that and Neumann's insistence, they guess your titan kill count to thirteen, potentially more, but that's the agreed upon consensus in the feedback reports," though just from his tone, you can tell Levi doesn't care much for the reports, or the fact the number is approximate. 

Before Levi completely barrels through Commander Erwin's original goal of having a relaxed one to one session with you, the blond holds his hand up to calmly pause him, asking for him to silently hold his words, before returning the hand back under his chin, looking at you thoughtfully. It's now that you can see your personnel file under his elbows on the desk - as one glance down and you see your first name with no attempt at hiding it, put flat on the desk for all to see. You glance up to his blue eyes after the fact, acknowledging it, exhaling nervously.

_Keep it together._

"For context, Recruit," his tone much more gentle when juxtaposed to Levi's - coupled with a rarely seen smile that makes it suddenly quite difficult for you to hold his gaze, forcing you to drop your eyes to the edge of the desk, your face warming behind your mask against your will. "-That's thirteen unassisted kills, putting you one behind the second in command for Squad Levi, and ahead of the rest, exceptions being Oruo Bozad, Eld Gin - as I mentioned, and our own Captain Levi. That said," he draws in a short gust of air, smile still neatly sat on his face. "- the standout difference between them and you, however, is that your record is obtained in a single sitting. To put this bluntly, it is unheard of," he then lays his hands out flat on the desk and slides your personnel file out to look it over in front of you.

"You're a stand out in all fields except academic classwork, even with the reports and appraisals of Instructor Ludolf's grading deeming him harsh," without giving it away, it seemed that Instructor Ludolf's treatment of you had become well-known the more people started digging into the Hero of Trost, and all of the stories about your hellish time in the West division's 104th training group had managed to reach even Erwin's ears, to the point that the Military Police were actually holding a conduct review over it, and would likely be interviewing members from the West division at a later date, to help determine if the man would be fit to continue training soldiers or be discharged from service completely.

"And on top of it all, we've personally witnessed natural and advanced use of omni-directional gear in the field when we encountered you in Trost," referencing when you had moved from titan to titan with no pause, until Oruo saw your blade snap in real time and forcefully pulled you backwards into the nearest chimney for your own safety. "-and in light of these facts, it would be unconscionable of me, as Commander of the Survey Corps, to not have a little talk with you about where you'll be headed in a few days," - at this, realisation dawned on you, this wasn't about thanking you for your efforts in the city, though it is certainly part of it - the way the man is looking at you right now, he considers you a potential asset. An asset to the point that he has made a diversion in his schedule to talk to you before he leaves for the military tribunal in the interior.

"Have you given any thought to what regiment you'll be joining? I'll be honest with you, Recruit, we could really use you. If you were to join, you would be directly under the purview of Captain Levi and myself," this statement is a loaded one, and slides the possibility of the Special Operations Squad directly at your feet without you even asking, and suddenly, Levi's reason for being there makes sense - he wants to know what you would have to say to Erwin's obligatory discussion to at least try and get somebody with such an unprecedented kill streak directly to the Survey Corps, because the only place they want to put you is _directly_ with Squad Levi, even if you are just a recruit.

You're not _just_ a recruit though, you're the Hero of Trost, and talent for titan slaying aside, seeing the person who was responsible for so many people being able to evacuate safely potentially join the scouts would be a great potential boon for recruitment, because with the blunt and honest speeches Erwin has planned, he's not sure how many people will still want to join after surviving this breach and being forced to get through it the second they graduated with no pause to even pick a division to serve in. Commander Erwin's question makes your palms sweat, and before you can help it, you're wiping them on your knees and looking visibly uneasy. The bullshit answers you usually gave might not fly with a man as intense and intuitive as Erwin, because even just sat in silence, it feels like he's reading you like an open book.

"I suppose the Garrison sir, where most people end up sir," you resist the urge to grimace when your voice comes out meek and nervous - in truth, you have _no idea -_ because again, you were awaiting further instruction and Lord Wolfgang had last confirmed your role in the Garrison - _with room for potential transfer to the MPs in the future if I can't get approval for my security force-_ last month, he was meant to reach out prior to graduation and confirm this with you, but he'd been noticeably hands off with his correspondence to you as your time in training ended, so you weren't sure if he'd gotten approval for his militia or not, which were operating regardless, but wanted official status to make bumping against law enforcement easier.

Lord Wolfgang has his fingers in a fair amount of pies, and anyone who does even the slightest bit of research knows it.

"You don't sound sure, which is strange - considering you're being patroned by a Lord to be here, they usually make their will quite known before throwing their gold behind something," he muses aloud, his warm tones taking on a sort of edge, not an abrasive one, but an inquisitive one, and for a moment, it feels like you're under interrogation without meaning to be. "I took a look at your file, Recruit," he drums his finger on it as he says this, a rhythmic tap against your name.

You tense all over - no one knows what their file looks like, and you have to wonder what made it into yours.

"In fact, I took the liberty of doing a little bit of research while I was waiting to get a moment with you," he says, lips curved into a thoughtful expression, less warm than previous, and sets your teeth on edge whether the commander intends to do so or not. "It seems that we've had the privilege of quite a few donations in the past three years from a Lord Wolfgang, since his son decided to enlist," he slides your file to one side, and you tense even more when you catch sight of a name underneath it.

_Dieter Wolfgang._

"A soldier described as - " he glances at Ludolf's crude note on his file, raising a thick brow " _unremarkable -_ whose made Military Police eligibility on the basis that more fit candidates were failing key exams in the year, which has been - ah, poorly penned out, but I'm assuming is you," his tone is blunt, but not rude, in fact, he seems almost amused by how much you seem to be squirming at being so easily picked apart, because it hadn't taken much research before things started to fall a bit more into place for Commander Erwin.

"It's all delightfully coincidental, don't you think?" his tone brooks no room for you to disregard what he's actually saying - he knows Lord Wolfgang has brought Dieter's position in the MPs, and he knows that you played a key role in getting them there, and that you separating into the elites - well, that had been you going off of the grid, so to speak - and doing something entirely unplanned.

"The world is full of coincidences sir," you cannot help it - you're kneading your fingers nervously, and Levi picks up on it, smirking a bit.

_Caught you. Pfft. Nobles. They're so used to their shit not stinking that they don't even try not to be obvious anymore._

"No doubt, but I don't think this is one of them, that said, I don't particularly care for Lord Wolfgang's motivations, and as it's keeping soldiers in new blades and fresh uniforms, I'd be told it's not my place to question the hand that feeds. But let me be blunt with you. I don't really care why there is such a necessity on this cadet making it to the Military Police, it really isn't my concern. What _is_ my concern, is letting talent pass us by, when it could be best served to save lives, and advance humanity's future," - _ah, there it is, now he sounds like my poster,_ you muse. "- but you're tied up in your patronage and whatever all _this_ ," - he gestures to Dieter's file "-is, so I have to ask, and I would like you to be as honest as you can, with me, and yourself," _now that's forward._

You flush a little under his intensity, and shrink in your seat a bit as Levi continues to smirk.

"What is it _you_ want to do, Recruit? And what could I do, to possibly convince you to join our cause?" he reclines a bit in Ludolf's chair, and then glances at Levi, before turning back to you. "It's a big question, so feel free to take your time. I understand there isn't much to draw most cadets to the underfunded, highest mortality branch, but I'm asking - because there is clearly something, _something -_ that drove you to disregard direct orders from a commanding officer to support flank an evacuation in favour of going directly for titans. Something inside you made you make that choice, and all that I am asking, is for you to listen to it, and talk to me," his tone goes back to a softer one, the one he'd had at the beginning.

The fact he even knows you disregarded Ian Dietrich's orders when you're certain the man is dead speaks volumes - they definitely questioned whichever survivors were present, probably Kruger.

He goes silent after saying this, and you feel your hands moving without you willing them, they're starting to tremble ever so slightly on your lap.

_I-- I don't know what to say...._

_He's looking at me so expectantly..._

_What do I...say?_

You feel a fear seize all over you as you sit in that chair, closing your eyes and feeling the cold, deceptively gentle touch of Lord Wolfgang brushing some hair back behind your ears, his eyes - green like Dieter's, but so much colder, in fact, Dieter is the very split of the man, but everything about Lord Leon Wolfgang was that much sharper, paler, unforgiving and colder. He had a tongue like a double-edged sword and everything about him was calculating and all-encompassing, in a way that was much more instinctively unwelcoming and dread-inducing than Commander Erwin's - which is what made them so different, yet so similar.

"It just looked - it wasn't fair - " it sounded so stupid and childish when you said it that you visibly cringe and turn your head away from Levi and the commander.

"I was told to go to the rear elites because of my competency in field exercises, and then - we - we got to the back of the formation, but the titans didn't give us any time. They were just running, jumping, biting and tearing, ripping people to shreds for no reason other than the fact that they _can -_ and I just," you swallowed a bit, trying to explain your spur of the moment adrenaline decision was harder than it looked, and you could feel your face heating up again behind your lower mask. "-I saw this little one just jump and - and swallow a scout whole, just like - like he was _nothing -_ and I just... it wasn't fair. When Captain Woermann was telling us the titans were in, these same people were crying, and vomiting, they wanted to hug their kids and go home and give their families the last bit of time they might have, and all I could think was that it wasn't fair," you feel your tone warble - you remember how easy it had been to disregard your own life utterly, because people whose lives mattered more than yours were in danger, except now? Now you had to articulate that. Out loud.

It was kind of embarrassing.

"S-some, most of those people - are - were - loved, and I just - I got so _angry -_ and - well, I don't - I don't have anybody except Dieter any way, so going for the neck just made sense," you shrug, but feel yourself wanting to draw in on yourself so much that your shoulders stay up by your ears as you fiddle with your hands with more nervousness to the point that Erwin realises he has to be just that bit more understanding, because he has some of the facts about your situation, but he's more painfully aware of what he _doesn't_ know and just how hushed up Lord Wolfgang's outreach really is.

Your words, however, are a bit uncomfortable. Erwin doesn't have family himself, neither does Levi anymore - as he certainly doesn't have much love lost for his uncle, but hearing somebody articulate just how little they valued their own life in comparison to others - as though training for three years with cadets who'd undoubtedly grown to care in some way wasn't enough to make you feel important to anyone, it was hard to hear. The boy who'd been skewered in Trost - he was familiar with you, Erwin remembers, but there was also such a muted exchange that even in his death throes, all you could do was thank him for being to kind to you, which he gathered from the stories about Ludolf, not many people had been.

That, and he'd heard Weber refer to you as _Tin Teeth -_ and in his researching, he'd heard the variety of rather unpleasant nicknames.

Little Treasure was probably the only nice one you'd ever had.

"And I thought - the more I kill, the safer everyone is, so I just did it. I didn't really think. I just did it. Then I realised everyone was so far away. I was so far away. Evac had fallen apart, and I didn't even know if Dieter made it, so I just kept killing because really sir, there wasn't anything left to do. I don't think I did anything that makes me special. I don't have what you have," - the last bit comes out by accident, and makes Erwin tilt his head a little bit curiously. As you hadn't much, if any, extended conversation with the man, he's intrigued to know what impression a fresh cadet actually has of him to make them say something like that, but this makes you flush darkly - he can see even against your skin tone and the brief flashes above the mask around your eyes that you're embarrassed.

"And what is that? Hm?" he lets his curiousness be obvious, and offers you a kind smile that you refuse to look at because it's just a little too much for you to compute right then and there.

"T-the - the, um," you feel yourself stammering - _don't mention the poster -_ "-the speeches and - recruitment...drive stuff, you're known for. About... advancing beyond the walls, or taking out the top of the food chain for humanity's future. I'll be honest, I didn't care about all that. I wish I did. I wish I had whatever it is you have that makes you care like that, but all I wanted was for people to stop dying and I didn't care how many titans I had to get through to make that happen. I don't think that's a good reason to be a scout, but I don't - I don't think there's much point in asking me sir, I don't get to choose," you bite your lip.

_Cats out. He did his research on Lord-Father anyway. The best thing I can do is disappoint him with honesty now and then never lay eyes on him again._

"Girls like me don't get to choose," _we never have._

Something about that - the way you said it, it was a bit _more_ telling than you meant for it to be, and the smile drops off of the Commander's face as he slowly rises to full height, making you crane your head up to look at him as he walks out from behind the desk, but gestures for you to remain seated. What he does, in fact, is try to close the physical distance, and be what he aims to be as approachable and on the level with you as possible, Levi recognises the tactic - as Erwin is charming to a fault, and just observes as the man leans back on his desk, in front of you, hands clasped over his knees as he looks down on you kindly.

"I have to await Lord-Father's instructions sir. If he wants me in the Garrison I'll go to the Garrison. If he wants to pull me out of service - he'll make it happen and have me report directly to his Master-at-Arms sir. Even if could - wanted - to join the scouts. I don't get to choose. Please understand Commander Erwin, I'm not trying to be disrespectful or drive a hard bargain or anything like that. Truth is, if I do the most good in the corps then I'd join the corps and make my daddy proud - God rest him - he died for the corps too and there's no shame in that future, but I can't join your regiment because my service isn't mine to promise," oh _God_ that sounded so, so very shitty to say out loud.

God, it really, really fucking did.

"I-I'm actually flattered that you - that you'd take this time out for me, in the first place, I'm not the only standout cadet who made it, I know at least two others. And I - I like being valued for the things I'm good at. Even if it is titan slaying. I.... appreciate it, like you wouldn't believe, because I'm not usually good for much of anything," you admit, still chewing on your lower lip - it is very hard to look at either of these men and the last thing you wanted to see was Levi's unimpressed, naturally condescending sneer. You were very aware of how pathetic you sounded, and did not need it pointing out - but disappointing the commander with honesty is probably the best way.

You plunge your hands between your knees and clamp them shut to hide how badly they're shaking - and Levi finds himself somewhat perturbed by that, to be honest.

_How does some snot-nosed uppity Lord induce such fear in someone who slayed thirteen titans in one sitting on their first bout of real field experience?_

_What the Hell is happening here? This isn't right._

"Your father died for the Survey Corps?" Erwin's voice is still in that soft tone, but you don't look at him, your mind casting back to when Lord Wolfgang sat you down as a little girl, and told you exactly what happened.

"He was one of the soldiers who had to convince the civilian population that they had a chance of reclaiming Wall Maria, but he was not in the two hundred survivors who returned," - it was a poorly disguised culling to stave off the famine by callously thinning population numbers, Erwin is painfully familiar with it, and the burden the Survey Corps had to bare when the Crown actioned that as something that had to happen - it was like sending lambs to the slaughter, and it was no easier on the experienced corps who had to go into Wall Maria territory and assist what they all knew to be a doom-driven hamfisted effort at controlling the food shortage.

It was actually a pretty horrible way to die in service, all things considered - at least those who died in an earnest expedition could feel like they were truly advancing the cause.

"But he was brave, and before all that, he survived expeditions, I know he did, even though he was conscripted out of the Garrison - 'cos numbers were bad, but he gave it his all. He never resented the Survey Corps, Lord-Father said he was never fond of the people who thought the Garrison sat around doing nothing all day to earn their rations anyway - cos everyone was hungry back then after we lost all of the farm land and got all those refugees after Wall Maria fell so the switch was welcomed. He - Lord-Father said.... that daddy was a proud man. Earned his keep. He - he only really started telling me that part before I left for training, for a good few years, he just said he died for the scouts and left it like that," you force yourself to look up at Erwin, and see the gears practically turning behind his eyes as he looks down at you.

"I think he wanted me to feel more connected with the forces so I'd be more inclined to set a good example for Dieter, sir. Otherwise it never really came up much. Lord-Father doesn't like to discuss the time before he took me home sir. Those times were... not... good."

You cringe again, because that sounded lame to your own ears and didn't even scratch the surface, but the man gets the hint, and quite suddenly, reaches towards you - hand settling comfortingly on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your shirt to your skin as you flinch in surprise.

"You've had a chaotic time of it, haven't you Recruit?" he's soft, and kind - something you don't expect out of someone whose naturally firm and overwhelming - his charming nature is certainly underplayed compared to everything else in his reputation, but right now, you're suffering the full brunt of it, and all you can do is nod mutely, feeling yourself get uncomfortably warm all over.

"Tell you what, why don't I put an archive access request for your father's file? It'll be around somewhere, consider it a more tangible thank you for your actions in the battle of Trost," he's quick to add "- I just want to know one last thing, and please, if you could continue to be honest to me - though I have no right to ask such loaded questions, I just want to hear it from you - because where you're going, and where you want to go, don't sound like they're necessarily the same place," he phrases it delicately, and you gaze up at him, eyes impossibly wide - your heart skipping a beat, wondering if your route of honesty to try and get out of scout recruitment was perhaps, not the way to go.

The idea of your dad - your real dad's - personnel file - it was certainly something you didn't expect, and it might not glean you much, but you never knew how much of Lord Wolfgang's words to trust, but a personnel file wouldn't lie, surely, right? You wanted to get that bit closer, instead of just cling to an old, worn out recruitment drive poster that you taped all of your expectations of your deceased blood father onto. Something that was tangibly his, and all about him, with information - it was tantalising. 

So fucking tantalising.

"Yes sir?" ever so slightly breathless, still riding the high of what the commander was so easily willing to give you.

In a surprising move, he stops leaning on the desk so that he can lean down and face you, and be face level you, his other hand joining your other shoulder so you're firmly locked into place. You cannot shrink anymore in your seat, and his eyes are such an intense shade of blue that you can hardly blink as he looks at you expectantly, but kindly, his stern, large brows drawn up in an expression that can only be construed as concern that you're not sure is genuine or not, but nonetheless makes your heart skip a beat, as he so often just looks naturally stern that this is just a bit jarring.

The words _girls like me don't get to choose_ had sat in Commander Erwin's stomach like a lead weight and he wasn't going to close this discussion without addressing it.

"Recruit, are you in trouble?" his expression softening as much as he could " - with your patronage. I understand it isn't my place, but concerns have been raised," _and now I'm concerned._

You feel your heart almost stop in your chest, and flashing before your eyes - all you can think of is Lord Wolfgang's scowl, and disappointed, frosty stare that could render you motionless with fear the way no titan ever could. You feel your gums ache in your mouth as you could recall the kinds of people he rubbed shoulders with, and just how cruel the industries the Wolfgang's were entrenched with were - and to say you went white with fright would be an understatement.

_You will await further instruction and not speak of this to anyone, especially not Dieter. Keep to yourself. Do your job, and your life will be a lot easier from here, Small One._

_You will not disappoint me._

**_Of course not Lord-Father!_ **

_Good. Don't make me get my hands dirty, remember your promise._

**_Of course Lord-Father, I'm yours until I die Lord-Father._ **

"Are you in trouble, Recruit?"

Your eyes water for a moment, before you jerk your head away, swallowing thickly and audibly.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the conditions of my patronage without noble counsel present sir. I wouldn't want to disrespect the conditions of my wardship sir," your voice takes a hollow tone that completely, and utterly avoids the question without even hinting towards an answer, not that Erwin needs you to, because your visible balking and skirting around the question spoke volumes where you didn't. "-A-and with all due respect, Commander Erwin, if titans did not kill me, disrespecting my Lord-Father just might. May I be dismissed?" - _please, before I say something that gets me in trouble._

Your eyes are silent and pleading.

Against his better judgement, he nods, and you practically fly out of the cabin after saluting Captain Levi and Erwin. Captain Levi gives the commander what can only be defined as a side-eye, because he definitely drew some unsettling connotations from that discussion, but doesn't judge himself to be as politically adept enough to weave through them without stepping on noble toes - that's something best left to experts of strategy, like Erwin.

It doesn't stop Levi from commenting bluntly after the fact though.

"What the Hell about some uppity nobleman makes a cadet who can kill thirteen titans in a single sitting shake like a leaf?" his expression drawn into a scowl.

"I intend to find out," he knows that Levi, however, may put some feelers out himself, as he's curious enough to want this person in his squad, he wouldn't put it past him. " - if you do the same, tread very, very carefully." Erwin goes back to the chair after this, sorting a few papers together before readying to leave for the interior, his mind reeling.

_I have to get her into the Survey Corps, she has to become one of mine. She's too valuable of an asset not to be._

_I have to have her, any method will do._


	4. The Habit

_Chapter Four_

**The Habit**

Days off in the armed forces don’t really feel the same as most days off - as they’re still fraught with occasional tasks and responsibilities before you’re truly off the clock. The precious period between the battle of Trost and delayed regiment allocation had made it even stranger now that there was less and less for cadets to do, with the exception of mourn their dead or write home to family. The graduates aren’t left without duties, but they’re few and far between, and a lot of it is just to try and make sense of the wreckage that another breach of the Walls had left behind, to scrape up the remains. Pyres are being lit for civilians, and there’s vigils happening, while soldiers are still trying to account for each other. The day of mourning for soldiers is set to be the day that you’d all choose a regiment, so in a way, it’d be saying goodbye to the recruits who didn’t make it, and it was going to be fraught with a suffocating amount of emotion that you, and so many, were already struggling to wade through. The truth is, it was stifling - and the refugees, the clean up, the bloody smears - it was too much to bare.

The kind of attention you were getting was also just a little too much. It was all a bit too uncomfortable, too intense, and damn near constant the moment that you were recognised for what you did. The words _Hero Girl_ or _Hero of Trost_ were vaguely nausea inducing. How could anybody be called a hero when there’s this many casualties? How could anybody ever feel safe behind these walls? Plugging a breach might be a victory for humanity, but at the grave cost of a tremendous amount of lives.

You would have rather not paid that cost.

“You sure you don’t want company?” Lotte’s face is full of hope - but in truth, you just want to be away from soldiers, because Dieter isn’t invited either. The pair of you are considered difficult to separate by most, but you lead entirely different lives when it comes to how you both choose to spend your downtime. You're similar, but not often in the same spot, it was very much a _come together, leave alone_ arrangement whenever the pair of you would go into the cities. Lotte Becker is still desperate to be closer to you, closer than she is now, and you can feel it. You just want some peace, though - and as bad as it might sound, even Lotte might be just a little too much for you right now. 

"I'm good for now, but if you're staying on grounds, can you cover for me?" - to which Lotte nods with a frown.

"You're coming back though, right?" - which just gets a short nod from you. Graduated or not, most soldiers have curfew hours until they're no longer serving or if they're staying at a base - which is meant to help with having some discipline and accountability, but that isn't always adhered too. Occasionally, this was something that went under the radar, but when Ludolf caught it, he was as unrelentingly harsh as always - however, word finally reached your ears that the instructor was _under review -_ whatever that means, and so a rather laid back, senior officer from the Military Police was stationed as overall acting director for the cadets until the regimental division allocation. Honestly? Officer Dennis Aiblinger was, by comparison to Ludolf, totally asleep at the helm, but so many of the cadets had their fight ripped out of them, that the man hadn't needed to do much in order to keep a tight grip of things. Nobody questions you or bats an eyelash when you walk behind a small cluster of boys who are going to the markets, though most of them have opted for wearing their uniforms, a good amount of them had shed their jackets and some had thrown on casual coats and blended seamlessly with each other.

You're wearing a dark red cloak that borders a muddy shade of muted brown that has a simple iron chain across the chest to join it, that denotes how much it was probably worth at some point. It's just another thing that puts a small wedge between you and the boys, who don't really take much notice until it's time to fill the horse-drawn carriage into town a full capacity. There's enough room, and you slot into a small space between two brown haired boys who glance at you, but ignore you when it becomes apparent you weren't interested in saying much more than a passing greeting, opting to keep your hood up. It'd almost be awkward, but they were already deep into some petty argument already that it's too easy to phase you out once you begin to blend in the background.

They stop off at a place called The Silver Helm, which is a well known soldier bar not too far from base, and despite the mutually agreed lack of contact - one of them does offer to help you out of the carriage out of politeness.

"I'm not stopping here, safe travels boys," you hold a hand up, ignoring the furrowed brows and passing curiosity, closing the door and pulling back a small scrap of cloth in the booth seating that provided a small window to the man whose stuck doing runs to and from base. It's a semi-regular service that has a single ride every hour, at roughly the same time, and stops at the Silver Helm unless specified otherwise, as that stretch of businesses is rather used to catering to cadets and graduated soldiers alike, the carriage also will stop in a central market, where you hop off and begin idly making your way through the small village.

There cobblestone roads are lined with people going about their lives, almost as though they're undisturbed by the breach - even though there's been years between the first attack and this one, it's almost as though the world is so resistant and so used to horror that those who suffer it hunger for normalcy that they'll keep going even if it seems like callous disregard. After all, could the world simply stop because of tragedy? No, businesses had to open, people had to work, collect firewood, feed their families, go to church in some cases, and just learn to carry the weight of loss on their backs.

Standing in the centre of the village in your casual attire, feeling your shoulders brush against harried women and skittering young children bolting past your knees, it's easy to convince yourself that for a moment, you hadn't signed every part of yourself to the army. For a moment, anyway, you're free of it all - and that's what you were looking for. You wanted to breeze seamlessly through this sea of faces and find somewhere dark enough to crawl into that the light will not bare down on your sins and imperfections. It's why you glide past fruit stalls without a passing glance and easily fall into lockstep, easily kicking a small ball that rolls in front of you in the vague direction of the children who'd kicked it over.

_Normal._

"Thanks, lady!" - one of them yells as you continue walking. For a while, it's like you lose hours to walking around almost aimlessly, feet stopping when you finally get to a tavern that's decidedly less well kept looking than the Silver Helm. The signs are subtle, but the clues are in the windows which looked like they'd never seen a clean rag in their lifetime, and how the wood splinters out at the hinges of the door which occasionally swings open, letting loud noise spill into the street in small flashes. The wood crest that hangs over the property is engraved simply as _The Tar Pit -_ a self-described working men's pub. Not that it barred anyone from entry, those sorts of places never did, and usually had a scatter of harried female bussers, but they definitely exuded a decidedly masculine dive bar atmosphere, that would attract locals of a certain sort.

You found these kinds of places the easiest to get by in, and strode in with a quiet confidence of someone who was used to being stared at, however uncomfortable it might be. Most stares are brief, before they go back to their regular conversation. This was a tavern that attracted labourers, typically bricklayers from the small construction site not too far away, and lumber mill workers. In the three years you'd been with 104th, you'd much preferred to come to these sorts of places over the soldier bars where you could do nothing to escape the intimate atmosphere of friend groups and people who had long ago decided you didn't fit in. Dieter was less picky, and knew of your preferences - he couldn't say he strictly enjoyed them, but you are older than him even if you don't look it, and he'd long since given up on trying to wrestle you away from your escapism. 

He knows you need it the same way he needs to be accepted by his peers, and in that respect, you will always be somewhat different to one another.

Dieter strives for perfection, and you just strive to survive.

A deep, rumbling voice from behind the bar greets you as you sidle up to it, perching in the nearest stool. It's high enough that your feet don't quite meet the ground, though your cloak overflows a little, you lower your hood, letting your hair spill out down your back, lower face sheathed in a familiar little brown cloth. Your appearance no longer exudes suspicious, as you make a point to unfasten the chain of your robe to show the snugly fitting high-waist, airy, dark trousers and simple slip-on shoes hanging off your feet - the more you expose bringing an air of comfort and familiarity to those side-eyeing you with some caution.

"Back again, Red?" Sieger had never cared to ask for a name, and you never cared to give it - and that seemed to work just fine for you over the three years of stolen visits to places like this. Sieger's is less of a journey from the Silver Helm at least, but this is not the sort of place soldiers go unless they're policing it as part of active duty, so this is where you choose to be to get away from all of that. It might seem strange, to not at least be on first name terms after so many trips to this establishment, but in truth, it felt natural - to breeze in and breeze out, because in truth, your schedule was not consistent, and you didn't spend all of your free time in the same place. There's nothing to ground you, you're a fast and loose presence in the dive bar scene, a person who shows up once, and disappears out the back, leaving nothing but memories behind.

You're not here to party anyway, the body count was too high for that. You're just here to escape.

"Mhm, whiskey me," there's never a preamble, no beer, just a small shot glass. "Dealer's choice," - because you never particularly care, and nothing Sieger serves is particularly expensive, though you wouldn't have minded if it was, it's small businesses like this that need all the help they can get. "Leave the bottle - thanks," he picks a black bottle with the label largely peeled off from the condition it was kept in, but it burns just right and having paid for the bottle, you can drink at your own pace. It doesn't take long before you're approached - because it never does - a burly sort with an unkempt beard but straining muscles is the one to make small talk.

"Bird like you never dilutes, do ya?" the man has a tankard of beer himself, and raises a brow at the confidence with which you order. The way he says it though, his tone is low and strangely appreciative, like some part of him finds how much you stick out intriguing, and he invites you to sit with his friends - who look around his age. Older - probably late forties, the kind who have kids who're probably all grown up, his teeth are a little jagged looking, but he has a blisteringly piercing stare and a mop of long hair that hits his shoulders - he's all rough edges, no softness.

"Why fix what's not broken?" you reply, moving the shot glass under your muddy brown coloured facial covering. You're used to eating and drinking around it, equally, you're also used to getting it dirty, so the movements that seem all too natural despite how strange they are. You can feel the man's stare raking along your slivers of visible flesh. This is the kind of look you're most familiar with, because men in these sorts of places, or, well, everywhere - they're all a little bit like this in some way - the ones you find coming into your orbit anyway. Maybe you just attract trouble, like moth to a flame - and however strong you are, there is something that must radiate a kind of chipped, something that pulsates towards those with predatory, hungry intentions, with a desire to fill all of those aching cracks, because you appear quietly confident enough to be able to walk it off after they take a piece of you. Men probably don't think about it that much, you think, it's all subconscious, it's all something in the air, about the way you walk, the way you talk, what you do, how you present - or Hell - _maybe_ you just have _daddy issues_ burned into your forehead and everyone with a certain predilection towards getting their fill no matter what they have to say or do could see it like a bright flashing sign.

You're very familiar with this, you're familiar with how it works, and you don't flinch when you find yourself eventually pulled onto somebody's thigh at a small, overly-crowded table which is stacked high with empty, dirty glasses. This made sense, this was consistent with what you know about the world, and about society. It was much less jarring than the sudden change from your peers in the military, who had long since decided exactly what they thought about you, to suddenly heel turn and begin treating you differently - that sort of attention made you uncomfortable, but the kind you were getting right now? That's the kind you're chasing, like you want to wash the bitter taste of whiskey down with a cheap thrill and something to remind you of your place. The Hero of Trost treatment was enough to make you nauseous with just how unrelenting and different was compared to the kind of treatment you're used to getting. You hadn't been able to break away from the bloody carnage of the district you're apparently a hero of. What kind of hero has that much blood in their ledger? What kind of _hero_ is under the thumb of someone like Lord Wolfgang? A man whose morally ambiguous at best, and a total monster at worst?

"Bet you've got a nice smile under all that, it's probably not that bad," - the man who has you perched on his knee speaks - his name, you learn, is Conrad, and he does indeed work at the lumber mill, easily explaining his overall musculature, and ragged clothes. His friends similarly pitch in, trying to get your eyes to flick to them for the barest of moments, and to have you playfully stretch your short legs out over theirs - though you're certain there's a brass wedding band on Ottowin's fingers, which has you keeping Conrad's attention. The last thing you need is more morality to dump into the burning bin fire of your mind, it was something you wanted to escape, not make worse.

"But there's so many more interesting things to look at," your voice is soft, naturally demure, and as they'd never seen you screaming, snarling and swearing into the winds of titan smoke air, covered in blood, it's difficult for them to imagine you ever raising your voice. There's a naturally gentle, almost submissive sort of purr in your tone, like you might be just a little too delicate to even raise a voice at - and you can tell that at least Conrad, is too deep in. He's addicted to the way you drawl into his ears, the way your fingers dance elegantly around the rim of your shot glass and exudes a grace that none of them had been raised with. You feel their eyes wander down your body to the tight, tensely buttoned shirt and the fact they can make out the nubs of your breasts and even a few muscle indents - as you'd come in nothing but a pastel silk shirt and a pair of high waisted, slightly flared dark trousers, it did pull the eyes upwards.

It's not even how you look, you think, so much as you're just on the short and somewhat buxom side, albeit only relative to your overall size, it's enough to just be broken, drunk and willing to sit on a stranger's lap - men will overlook a lot of things.

_You don't even have to be beautiful._

Even your disaster of a mouth could be overlooked, despite how uncomfortable it makes you - to a point you'd much rather be bent forwards over a table than have a man above you, looking at the flashes of alloy that sit where your teeth should be. There's not a lot of guys like Longinus Weiners, you think, who don't recoil on sight. Ottowin does when you yank down the cloth covering your face to your neck, and for a moment, you're worried your identity as Red is gone, and that the rumours of the Hero of Trost has reached even this little working men's pub.

"Shit," Conrad curses under his breath, and you feel his beard tickle your cheek as he gruffly grabs your face and forces you to look at him. "Industrial accident or something, Red?" - he feels you tense on his body, and not wanting to ruin the direction of conversation, he drops it when you murmur - _something like that -_ by way of dismissal. 

"Your mother didn't name you Red," Ottowin snorts, trying to change the topic - wanting to release the tension, but he shares a glance with his friend - because he knows what's happening, they all do on some level. You're an adult woman, but even still, probably too young, probably a bad decision for at least one of you, but none of them want to stop it. They're visceral, they want with their bodies, they think with lust first. "What's yer actual name?".

"Whatever you want. Red's fine," your disagreeable answer earns a snort from the naturally blunt men, but it tells them you're not giving them anything. Nothing real. Everything will be quick, dirty and impermanent, and without consequence - because this, in itself, is a consequence. When Ottowin leaves and you're guiding Conrad to one of the tavern rooms, trying to reap every inch of it - your roughness surprises him completely. As softly spoken as you are, and casually elegant, you dig your fingers and nails in and pull him into your body as much as someone of your size can. 

You think of Longinus Weiners and his delirious smile, and eyes dilated, insides mounted on a long piece of wood that has his body surrendered to death. You think of all the times he'd called you Little Treasure, and the little flirtatious grin when you had blushed from neck to forehead, and how he'd kept on saying it even when Weber teased him - when _everybody_ teased him - because he refused to get kicked down by anyone or anything. You might not have known the boy very well, but he was the spirit of rebellious freedom, from the waist-down at the very least.

_Some hero I turned out to be._

He's dead, his smile is filled to the brim with blood until it's pouring down his chin in rivulets down his chin from the cracks and spaces between his teeth. Why didn't you see where he was? That building wasn't too far off from the church you'd made a base, why didn't you spread out? Why didn't you search for survivors sooner? Why did you let your rage prioritise mindless _fucking_ titans over human life? Longinus deserved to be drinking and flirting his way through the Silver Helm, ironing a patch full of roses on his jacket when he gets to the Garrison - because that's the only thing you'd really found out about him once you'd gotten back to Lotte. Longinus wanted to join the Garrison, and probably join the party of cadets who piss off of the edge of the wall and throw things down it for fun. Dammit, he deserved to be there, fucking around with everybody else. 

"No - just - agh, just do it," your voice in a tight, unforgiving terseness when you feel Conrad bending you over the bed, getting you to all fours with an astounding ease, bending and moving each of your limbs like you're a doll to be posed, directing him with a harshness he struggled to picture coming out of your mouth.

You stop him spitting into his hands for lubricant, and his fingers from caressing you with foreplay, you want it to burn, you want it to _hurt,_ you want to feel cleaved in two because it's the least you _deserve._ The man, to his credit, seems apprehensive about it, because as selfish as his needs are - overriding his morality to sleep with someone this much his junior and probably terrible for him. Conrad does think twice, but then carnality does, very quickly, take over when you push your backside into his belt, and hiss through your metal plates.

_Hurt me._

It hurts. It aches. A pained and stretched sound leaves your throat and it was enough to make Conrad stop - only for you to move your body in sync, as though you're trying to impale yourself on his body. It doesn't feel good as much as it just burns, but there is definitely an edge of pleasure underneath the waves of molten hot pain. Your eyes sting with tears, but you're still throwing your head back, telling him what to do - you want him to pull, you want him to yank, you want him to drag you along the sheets and use you like a bar rag, and force your body to mop up every hot, messy gush of pleasure because it's what you _deserve._

_Spit in my mouth. Call me your little bitch. Break me in half._

Conrad doesn't, but your words stir him enough that you feel his large, meaty hand enclosing the back of your neck, fingers pressing the front of your throat as he yanks you from all fours to upwards, effectively impaling you on his dick with enough force that you feel your eyes roll back at the constrictive, tense, furious delight that this sordid night gives you. The tears are sprouting and gushing down your cheeks when you feel him moving behind you, but if your tears made him uncomfortable - he made it a point not to look.

_I'm not a hero. Just a brat. Metal mouth brat._

Conrad is not a monster you see, and he doesn't relish in tears, but this night is just one sordid night, pleasure and punishment respectively. He knows he's filling a void in some sense, in a manner not just physical and that there is something inescapably shattered about the way you conduct yourself but his dry spell has been going on far too long, you're far too buxom and your words just too _wanton_ for him to find the strength to say no.

Conrad, just like the rest of them, takes his fill of you, and leaves.

You stay on the bed for a while, your insides burning and churning, feeling sweaty, sticky and all together exhausted. This wasn't something you did terribly often, but it happened probably more times than Dieter would be comfortable knowing, but you do tend to drift from pillar to post, searching for something to dig yourself out of your turmoil with. Strangely, as complicated as everything with Lord Wolfgang is, everything did at least, feel like it made sense, he was clear about when you pleased or displeased him, everything had a set plan in motion, everything about his businesses was meticulously planned. Ludolf had been such a poor stand-in by comparison, just a lump of a man with an irrational anger towards you who could not, and would not justify his actions, someone who you could never please, and never be good enough for. Still, there was a new normal with him, however messed up it was.

Now you graduated, and there was no normal.

Trost was breached, normal is dead and no one is safe.

Someone other than Lord Wolfgang wants you to swear your life to their cause.

Even if you feel cheap, disgusting and vaguely used, that was the aim - that was what you searched out. That's what you thought might blur our Longinus' smile, Dieter's expectant look, Commander Erwin's soft, concerned stare that you patently did not deserve. When you move sluggishly off the bed, gingerly wiping between your legs and limping back into your clothes, you're practically staggering out of the back end of the tavern a few hours later, the early morning light cast out over the village as some of the more family orientated businesses with standard goods and services being closed. The bottle of whiskey falls limply out of your hands at some point in the small hours, because it's so early that you know that the carriage service wouldn't even be running, and it was a long, painful walk to the Silver Helm.

A wave of nausea hits, and you cringe when you're only barely quick enough to pull down your face cover to throw up.

Double vision subsides rather quickly after this, but between the burning feeling of soreness when you walk and the fact you'd had nothing but a liquid diet for the past twelve hours, your throat hurts too, and your vomit lacks any solidity or mass, coming out in a spray of regurgitated alcohol, bile and stomach acid behind the back of a small cobbler's business.

_Class act._

Your inner voice is sharp, critical and entirely self-loathing, and much of it, you think, is perfectly warranted - as you slump up miserably against the closed Silver Helm, and simply wait for a few hours, trying not to fall asleep and be mistaken for a vagrant, until the first carriage back to base arrives.

_... I really am the worst...._

* * *

When you arrive back to base, sneaking in is almost impossible, because no one left early enough to get the first carriage into town, so when you arrive, you do see a somewhat unimpressed member of the Military Police, who were still acting in stead of a detained Ludolf, greeting you with their arms folded when you dismount.

Looking up blearily, you can see it's Senior Officer Dennis Aiblinger, and manage to summon up a half-hearted salute - after all, did breaking curfew really matter in these circumstances? You were graduated, unallocated, and in a nebulous, hard to define period of time that was a mixture of boondoggle tasks and grieving now that Trost had been cleaned up. Dennis Aiblinger has a naturally young sort of face, despite being a little older than you, with unshaved stubble and a fluffed mass of brown hair, with matching warm, brown eyes. He oozes a sense of being too tired to be there - and very much resents being plucked from his station in Stohess to be a glorified babysitter to the remains of the 104th West Division cadets.

He's one to prefer playing cards, shirking his duties, and generally speaking, passing things off to lower ranks, and in truth? Is probably a little too laid back to be the one requested as a stand-in for Ludolf. As poor as his work ethic may be, however, he is not imperceptive, the face covering you're wearing is jacked up a little too far up your nose, you smell like a brewery, there's tiredness hanging heavily under those large, glassy eyes of yours, and he gets a brief flash of your neck where there's just a faint discoloration that would raise mild concern if not for the poorly buttoned bottom part of your shirt which flashes under the semi-open muddy red cloak, which tells him exactly what you've been up to.

For a moment, he reminds himself where to put his eyes, not wanting to ogle -as you're in fully casual clothes but they're just a little bit more fitting than they should be and he shouldn't know whether you're wearing anything under your shirt or not. He knows who you are of course - you're not accounted for during a morning head count, and your look has gone from keeping you hidden to noticeably distinctive as the last cadet survivor of Trost.

_A bit runty -_ Officer Aiblinger muses when he looks at you - trying to imagine you not just surviving, but doing the feats that you're now infamous for.

"Urgh, you smell like a brewery, Cadet," he comments wryly, shaking his head at you as he scratches the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He can't _not_ punish you, but it does seem rather pointless all things considered, and the hangover is probably doing enough if he's honest, but his heart isn't really in it. If anybody deserved a night off of fun, surely it had to be you, right?

"Sorry sir," you warble out.

Something about your tone helped him reach a decision.

"Tch, impudent little thing. I suppose considering the circumstances I can overlook it just this once, just get some rest in medical and when you feel up to it, I'll find you something to do," he gives your exhausted slouch a once over and adds as an after thought. "Come to the staff cabin in the evening, it'll just be some paper work," - because putting you through physical labour after the rumours he'd been hearing about Instructor Ludolf - well, army man or not, Aiblinger isn't cruel, and part of him doesn't want to add to the ever growing pile of unwarranted harsh punishments that were coming to light as a result of the internal investigation.

_Yes. Patsy acquired. No paperwork for me, and I get to look charitable,_ _all in a days work,_ he's a little self-satisfied with himself, and wrapped up in his own thoughts as he dismisses you, enough that he _almost_ misses the slight limp in your gait, and frowns a bit.

_So, this is what heroes look like these days? Damn, the scouts must really be hard up - or she's that good._

When you get to your room, Lotte is relieved - but has a broom in her hand and is sweeping the corridors with a somewhat embarrassed smile. She doesn't notice all the little things the senior MP does - save for the slight limp, which she attributes to you being tired from being out all night.

She's relieved you're back. Apologetic she couldn't cover for you. Got caught in a lie about you feeling a bit under the weather when a female officer came into the dorm to check and found a fluffed pillow under a raised blanket. Lotte is now cleaning the general area as a light punishment. 

You're honestly too trashed to care, and just vaguely grunt an acknowledgement in her direction, about to pass out face down on your bed, staring blearily up at the top bunk above you. Lolling your aching head to one side as the hangover creeps up on you, you kick off your shoes to opposite sides of the dorm and cringe when your eyes fall on your worn-out recruitment drive poster. The edges are frayed from the years of being unfurled and pinned in different places, but you can see the harsh, black and white pencil and ink work of it staring down at you.

Though he's a little younger, and without the colour, you can feel the intensity of Commander Erwin's blue stare as you fall to pieces on the bottom bunk, breathing heavily.

You can hear his soft, velvety, deep voice washing over you with undue concern, the warmth of both of his hands pressing down on your shoulders as he lowered his tremendous height down to be eye level with you, and asks for you to be as honest with him as you are with yourself. As if it's that easy.

_Are you in trouble, Recruit?_

You still feel a little sore from your night in the Tar Pit, you can still feel the marks where the lumber mill worker's fingers pressed into your lower abdomen as he bent and moved you. You're certain it's the kind of pain that'll carry after you sleep, and you'll feel it as you stand. You remember how your heart skipped at the idea of having something as clinical as an army personnel file for your biological father because you're so far removed from him now that you are aching to feel like that part of you was still close to him, and that you weren't the aching disappointment you felt you were. You remember his gentle smile, and how blunt he was with what he wanted, and expected of you - simply for the fact you are good at what you do, and even despite only seeing you as an asset, he was still far more gentle than you had any right to.

_Are you in trouble, Recruit?_

When you feel your body ache, your lips mouth silent words into your pillow as you close your eyes, facing your worn out recruitment drive poster.

_**Yes, sir. Please help me.** _

Your body gives way completely, between the walking, waiting and all the drinking, and wanting to escape the ache of your mounting hangover, you finally feel darkness take you, and pass out half-dressed on the bottom bunk, blissfully unaware of Lotte Becker's concerned stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ R&R if you're reading, p aware this is a low-effort vanity project so not expecting much, Paradis Lost is definitely better, but I do like the setting of this one I suppose.]


	5. The Idol

_Chapter Five_

**The Idol**

“So, what does he have you doing then?” Dieter takes one look at you and can tell that you’ve been off of the grounds. Even with your hair brushed, a shower later and a decent amount of rest, he knows because there’s still tired, red cracks in the whites of your eyes. You move like your joints are stiff, and he loathes to think of what you may have gotten up to in town. In fact, Dieter does his best to lure his mind away from those sorts of thoughts. Where Aiblinger noticed everything, Dieter does his best not to - having a willing blind spot for the slight change in your gait, the hint of a wince when you sit, and the bruising on your neck.

“Paperwork, apparently,” you say, walking to the staff cabin at a slow pace. Dieter looks like he wants to say something - when the pair of you stop at the wooden door. For a moment, he just stares - until his hand reaches out for your shoulder and settles there.

“You got off easy, some of the boys who stayed at the Helm past the last carriage ride to base are on latrine duty,” he has an impish grin on his face. There was a sort of unfairness to it, but he’s a sort whose used to favouritism, and whilst it isn’t as often extended to you, after the three years of Ludolf and his treatment, he finds it welcoming. “You’re slipping off your game a bit though V - you’re usually better at not being caught,” - he’s used to how you are, what you do, and the fact you fly the nest whenever you need to escape.

“This from you?” you scoff, Dieter was not one for sneaking, he is a blunt, shameless whirlwind of rich, eccentric playboy behaviour, never shy of flexing his station. The training camp had been a sharp change for him, but even now, he hadn’t quite adapted to being the kind of person who had a natural inclination to hide his flirtatious, impulsive nature. As a result, he’d been caught red-handed more times than you’d cared to count, so he just looks a little sheepish in response. “ - any way, it’ll be easier when we know who our section commanders are. Curfews are a bit better,” you shrug.

“Ahh, can’t you taste the freedom?” Dieter says with a wry grin “ - of a whole new dawn to dusk schedule, a new person to yell at us, and a new uniform to wash,” - he’s trying to make light of it, of course, but you can see his anxiousness underneath it.

“Like you have much to worry about Mister Military Brigade,” you shake your head at him, folding your arms under your chest.

“It’s not me I’m worrying about,” Dieter scratches his cheek when he says this - looking a little awkward. It seemed that ever since the battle of Trost, he’d been trying to be a little more external with his feelings, rather than leave anything unsaid. The brush with mortality - yours in particular - seemed to have done that. “It’s just - we’re allocating soon and, well, we’ve never really been properly split apart like that, you know? Wherever I go, you go,” he grimaces a bit when he articulates it aloud, because it sounds a bit pathetic to his own ears.

“You’re gonna miss me?” you grin behind your covering, and though he can’t see it, he knows you are, because it’s the kind of smile that reaches your eyes. “ - it’s not like we’ll never see each other, and we’ll write if you find the time. All those cute girls that’ll come flocking for a man in uniform will keep you busy, and then you’ll forget about little old me,” you try to keep the tone light, but his face is still drawn into a little frown.

_But I don’t care about those girls. You’re my sister in everything but blood._

"They're good for a good time, but you're my top girl," Dieter says, trying to play it off like he isn't hurting, like he isn't desperate for you to somehow get into the military police with him. Every time he turns, and he needs help, it's always you standing behind him, and without you there - the young Wolfgang isn't quite sure he's quite fit for the cut. He wondered, briefly, if he even needed to say it, but the way you look at him over your half-mask, the way your eyes seem to glitter with a knowledge that tells him he is so easily read, he doesn't have to.

You know Dieter is anxious, and scared - too proud to say so now there aren't titans knocking at the door, but you spare him the sensation of feeling weak, and vulnerable, and speak with a soft, reassuring sort of purr.

“Ah, stop with the long face already, will you? It’s about time you outgrew me anyway,” a sad sort of shimmer in your eyes as you turn to knock on the staff cabin - AIblinger was waiting, after all.

“No one could ever outgrow you,” is the last thing you hear from him as the door swings open, signalling Dieter’s cue to leave.

_You grow so fast none of us ever had time to catch up. Me included -_ he thinks, a little bitterly, and turns away with a defeated smile.

_And now I’m losing you._

* * *

Senior Officer Dennis Aiblinger isn't awful to look at, truth be told. He's a young faced sort of man for someone who reached the rank that he has, as he regularly answers to direct superiors of the forces, like Commanders Nile, Pixis and occasionally Erwin, when the situation deemed it necessary - he'd even been dragged into a room with the Premier. Not that he would have terribly much to offer, his usual go-to is to regurgitate reports he'd quickly familiarise himself with an hour prior to a meeting - and usually they were reports he'd shafted to a junior. He invites you in, and unlike Ludolf or Erwin, there is no heavy atmosphere upon entry, in fact, the staff cabin is filled with the smell of spilt alcohol and instead of using the main office, he's taken the sitting area, where there's some sofas and a coffee table spread out the piles of paperwork. There's also ink, pens and circular wet stains of moved beer bottles on the oak surface, along with a deck of playing cards - which had been half-mashed back into their packet.

"You showed up, good," he thumbs to one of the couches " - sit yourself down somewhere, I'll go get another glass," this makes you take pause.

_Glass?_

Your eyes flicker over to the shot glass on the table which looks like it has a small dribble of golden liquid in it, and frown a bit in thought. This was supposed to be a punishment of a sort, and so it puts you a little on guard, between that and the familiar ache in your body as you sat down, you're wary. One thing you're constantly aware of is that everybody wants something, no exceptions - and everything that they do is in aid of, or as a result of, that motive somehow, no matter how tangentially. Dieter wanted you close to him, to be his right hand when it all goes wrong. Lord Wolfgang wants your life, your soul, your service - he wants you to live and breath for his goals, whims and wants - when he snaps and says jump, the only thing he wants to hear is _how high, sir?_ \- Commander Erwin wants you for the Special Operations Squad, because of his lofty ideals, his unwavering determination, he has a hard, steely will and a goal for humanity that isn't just recruitment talk - not from the way he was speaking to you in the office. Instructor Ludolf wanted a punching bag, a patsy, somebody to absorb all of the rage that couldn't fit inside of him until it overflowed like a burst dam.

Men like Conrad want to feel virile, they want to feel like they're the only thing in the world that can _itch that scratch,_ and teach you lessons only a man can impart, not a young one closer to your age. They want to compete and win, even if they're out of the game of cruising for spritley girls going to Einrich College who are out of their league and just want a taste of rough, but not too rough. Rough enough to make their fathers angry and their brothers cringe, but not enough to get financially cut and reigned in.

Nobody really does anything out of the kindness of their hearts, you find, so this begged the question, what did Dennis Aiblinger want? You cross one leg over the other and let him pour you a glass of whatever it is he's drinking - it's not top shelf, but it's familiar, a little pricier than the typical drink of choice, you can tell just from a small little sip. To tell the truth, you weren't in the mood to drink more, but all things considered, you're not in the position to turn away nicety either, as this was supposed to be some form of punishment.

The officer sits opposite you, wiping some stray alcohol off of his chin and out of his stubble with the back of his sleeve. 

"You have a fun night on the town then?" he opens with a lazy grin, looking at you in such a way that you might have been uncomfortable, had you been of lesser constitution. He's talking to you like he's looking for camaraderie, like you're familiar, even though you're not, because he doesn't want you to be as guarded as you are. Still, seeing no need to really hide much - it's not as though you were doing anything illegal so much as just morally questionable, you just give him a little shrug, the edge of the glass going up under your lower mask, nursing a second sip.

"Something like that, Sir," the soreness spoke for itself, and fun isn't the word you'd use - and out of habit, your finger finds itself circling the rim of the cup. You glance down at the piles of papers on the desk, and then back up the senior officer with a brow raised - some of those documents looked important, probably too important for a lowly cadet to be looking at, let alone doing.

"I'm glad," he chuckles a bit, seemingly oblivious to the tension in your shoulders and the way you're trying to read him, to gauge him. "I remember when I was a cadet," he sniffles a bit, like he's a bit stuffed up - and leans back on his chair with an all together relaxed airs that made it seem just a bit too informal to be any kind of repercussion for your breaking the curfew - in fact - he seems a little amused by it. "I think I broke curfew once a month for three years, and every time I got caught I'd say - I'm never doing that again," he takes a hearty sip from his own shot glass.

"And then I'd go right back and do it again the next month, after going long enough to forget how bad the last write up was," 

It honestly made you wonder how he got into the MPs in the first place, but you supposed people changed, people grew, people transferred - it wouldn't surprise you if Dennis was originally Garrison, he seemed to be the type to dash marbles off the edge of the wall for fun with all the other bored soldiers who wanted an easy ride. You don't bring up the boys who are on latrine duty - because that would highlight how unfair it is, and the fact that you know he wants something, or that there's a reason he's treating you this way. It could just be that you're the Hero of Trost and he has some misplaced reverence, but until you know for certain, you remain on edge.

"This the paperwork you wanted doing?" you gesture to the coffee table " - it looks important sir, I wouldn't want to mess it up," - to which Dennis waves it off casually. 

"Yes and no," he says with a grimace, he seems a bit uncomfortable now - because you're right to the point, and don't seem to be ready to just accept the treatment you're getting without question. Even behind a mask that shielded half of your face from the nose down, Dennis feels like he's being carefully looked over. He'd have liked you to be a little more loosened up, truth be told, and not for any particularly nefarious reason, he just wanted you to be relaxed, because in truth? Latrine duty might be a whole lot easier than the discussion he's being forced to have with you by the higher ups.

"Yes it's the paper work that needs doing, and no, I don't particularly want to do it, but that goes for you too," at the confused expression on your face, he lets out a long, long sigh - before pouring a fresh glass for himself, and topping up yours without your asking, shaking his head.

"See, they wanted to stick me with interviewing you as part of the case being built on Instructor Ludolf for his conduct review," he watches your expression for any change, but he cannot see anything with so much of your face hidden, and he doesn't see anything in your eyes - you give him nothing, so he just continues, watching all the while.

"And I thought having to discuss that would be worse than latrine duty, considering the other collected testimony we've had from your trainee division," - ah, this actually caused your shoulders to untense a bit, to tell the truth, you never thought anything would be done about Ludolf, and the fact he'd mysteriously disappeared off of training grounds had barely factored in amongst the chaos of recovering from, and cleaning Trost, and then stressing about allocation after graduation. It had been a passing thought from time to time - that you hadn't seen the man in a good while, but you just counted your blessings and didn't question it.

For a moment, you wonder if this was Dieter's doing - he always spoke about writing to the MPs about it, did that actually go somewhere? Did he actually follow through? You'd always assumed those letters, if they'd even gotten sent out, would be rotting in some administrative pigeonhole somewhere, in a pile of things that should be processed but may never get to be.

"All this - what you've done in Trost - it got a lot of people interested about you, in you - and the stories, well, they started getting out. Section Commander Rodrick - ah, you wouldn't know him, runs a small brigade in Mitras, bit of a do-righter, started sniffing around, looking for leads. Think it probably reminded him of his good old days - he was a West Division graduate, like you," he sips, and puts the glass down with a clink. "- had Ludolf as an instructor himself, so he started kicking up dust on your behalf. Someone had to. All these rumours were flying around because everyone's talking about you, and we need to be seen doing something about it," he finishes, and to be honest, his forwardness on the topic was actually quite refreshing.

You took a moment to collect yourself, looking into his warm, tired brown eyes and then down at some of the papers in more detail.

_\- Conduct Review: STAFF USE ONLY -_ _CONFIDENTIAL_

_\- VICTIM STATEMENT_

_\- SIGNED: SNR OFFICER_ _DENNIS AIBLINGER, AUTHORISED BY: COMMANDER NILE DOK_

_\- REQUESTER: S. C, RODRICK CARVER_

"Alright, sir," you said - a little stiffly, tilting your head and looking at some of the blocky writing - was this actually authorised by the head of the Military Police, or was that just something on all the paperwork? You almost asked, but Senior Officer Aiblinger cuts you off before you open your mouth, and is looking at you with what you supposed was his best attempt at a comforting smile - which felt strange, coming from somebody who generally radiated a kind of air that didn't care. He starts by asking a few questions, simple ones, about when you noticed odd treatment, to cite a few examples - you struggled at first, because you didn't know what was standard rough housing for somebody trying to beat recruits into army-fit form and what was just excessive cruelty.

Aiblinger was quick to point out what was, and what wasn't.

"I'm going to request some records from medical to support some of these claims, meal privilege suspensions aren't total starve outs, nor are they meant to go on that long," he doesn't have to ask permission, but his silent look asks you if that's alright - all you do is shrug, because it's not like you can stop it per se, the ball is already rolling on this, and you would prefer it if Ludolf never had the chance to hurt anybody again. It didn't matter how uncomfortable it may make you to have those records out there, because you'd already lived through the agony that's being detailed, far, far more publicly in front of West Division 104th that whoever's eyes land on it do not particularly matter.

"Of course sir," you respond smoothly, again, betraying nothing.

_It's that mask, I can't see her face -so what is she thinking? -_ Aiblinger muses to himself, but continues scribbling, undeterred.

"Okaaay - question seven - ah shit, I don't like asking these questions," he scratches his chin a bit, a habit of his, you notice "- a female officer is usually preferred for this sort of thing, so you can abstain and wait until Greta is on duty if you please, but I have to ask - it has to be answered yes or no before we can submit this to the docket by request of Commander Nile directly, so," he falters, and clears his throat awkwardly, suddenly unable to look you in the face and rather at the drink in your hands. "Did Ludolf - ever - " he trails off with a grimace, and you look at the man blankly.

"When I asked you what Instructor Ludolf did to you, you responded with _everything,_ \- did he approach you inappropriately?" his grimace more pronounced now " - Sexually, I mean. You can come back to that later with Greta if you want," and in fact, part of him was pleading internally for you to do that, because this line of conversation made him utterly uncomfortable no matter how seasoned of an officer he was. You're just so terribly small and soft spoken that even with the body count you had allegedly accrued in the battle for Trost, he takes one look at you and is already struggling to picture you withstanding some of the treatment you'd flatly outlined, the idea of something worse - well, he's not sure he can quite stomach the thought.

"Instructor Ludolf said that I don't look half bad if I keep my mouth shut, sir. He certainly presented fraternisation as a reprieve from what he was doing to me sir, but he didn't force me, his pride wouldn't allow it," _so he wanted to break me instead, and I almost considered it, but he's so damn unattractive I couldn't even pretend he was someone else, and I fuck random labourers old enough to be my father._

You wisely kept that to yourself.

"That's marginally better but not great," Aiblinger is visibly cringing, and continues to make his way through the list - much of the hour is whittled that way until he gets to the bottom of his sheet, and puts it down finally once the interview is done. You sign your name on a dotted line, swearing it to be utter truth, before you notice a sheet of paper behind it on the coffee table, carelessly mixed with everything else. You pull it out and frown a bit, before Aiblinger notices and lets out an annoyed noise - at himself, rather than you.

"That - ah, shit, shouldn't be there," he admits " - it must have gotten mixed up with my other files," - thankfully it's nothing too confidential. It's just a little packet that Nile had distributed to keep senior officers informed about the latest bounty for brigades to focus on, if they want their performance bonuses - they had to clamp down on the network of narcotics that was in general circulation around different cities in different walls. It's not profoundly detailed - just a general outline of areas that had become hot pockets for overdoses and related frenetic drug crimes that were causing havoc.

"Oh," you look up at Aiblinger, who doesn't seem to care that you're looking at the file, and doesn't stop you, and decide to read it a little - to change the subject from the three years of humiliation under Ludolf, because it was rather draining at this point. " - Oh, wow. Karaness has a plug for white gold now? Huh, usually it's rinkydink farmer types growing a few bottle tops to get by, nothing hard like that, the world's really been changing while I've been in training," you muse aloud.

Officer Aiblinger looks at you with an odd expression.

"I understood very little of what you just said," he frowns a bit, not so much suspicious as just plain surprised, which you make note of. For a moment, you consider if it's worth bringing this sort of attention on yourself, but the truth of it is this - you're too high up in Lord Wolfgang's chain for the report you're looking at to be of any real concern. That, and it wouldn't hurt to gauge where Aiblinger falls when it comes to whose a dirty member of the MPs and who isn't - and if he's clean? Well, it wouldn't hurt to have him understand you're valuable outside of just being the Hero of Trost. If Dieter is joining the MPs, Leon Wolfgang's connections are good, but having one that could potentially be exclusively yours? Well, you'd sleep better at night being far away from Dieter, if that was the case.

"Um, sir?" you trailed off, returning his look "- you know, plugs? Someone's plugging Karaness - a river of demand, and some distributor is plugging it. They call them plugs, still do as far as I know," at this, the man is blinking owlishly. It tells you instantly that either he's so hands off he's out of touch, or the brigade in general is - or, realistically, it's a little of column A, a little of column B.

"And how do you know that, Recruit?" it's now that a bit of suspicion is levied at you, but you raise a hand and wave it off too easily, not looking the least bit perturbed by it, which makes you look more innocent overall. 

_Keep calm. Relaxed. He knows nothing, obviously._

"You know I'm patroned by Lord Wolfgang, sir? I've been to the galas, the parties, the mixers - socialites get bored, and a lot of them have more money than sense. What else do you think rich kids behind Wall Sina who've never worked a day in their life do for fun? They have an abundance of time, a lack of common sense and a lot of disposable income. When you're just somebodies ward, people will say all sorts of things around you as if you don't matter. I picked up a little of the system, sort of," you said casually, and it wasn't entirely a lie, granted you knew a lot more than you were letting on, your reasoning made Aiblinger untense, and recline slowly with a low whistle.

"The rich really do live in another world," he says after a long moment, shaking his head. 

"Mhm. They're usually the only ones who can afford high quality white gold - that's crushed up Lerafryn," you point to where it's mentioned in the information packet, causing the man to lean into your space, eyes tracing over where your fingers go - just a little intimately. "- White gold, sun snow - expensive stuff. Won't go for cheap or get out far beyond Wall Rose unless it's cut with something terrible to make a little spread a long way which accounts for Mitras and Karaness on this report probably - if I had to guess. Bottle tops are mushrooms - the kind that make you see wild stuff. Whenever I saw those floating around at mixers, it was always named some country as Hell name, dead giveaway. Most people can grow them assuming they have enough bag for spores in the first place. But you know and I know that's an instant possession with attempt to distribute charge," you said, looking through Aiblinger a little unimpressed by just how little grasp he had over the situation.

A lot of what you were saying just felt like common sense after gathering an understanding of the supply chain on the streets, nothing that could give away your place in all of it, but enough to impress a clueless somebody - like this senior MP.

"Yeah, two to three years for those, but we don't get a lot of that, 'cos like you said, it's podunk farmers, not big distributors generally. Right now Coderoin is the hot ticket item, whoever can snag a good haul and arrest gets a bonus like you wouldn't believe," he sighs wistfully, which tells you exactly why he had that report with him in the first place. The man had money on the mind, and then finally catches up to something else you said, again, clueless.

"Sorry, what did you mean when you said bag?" - this makes you slowly put down the report, and look at Aiblinger like he has an extra head.

_Wait. He's serious? How is he an MP?_

You decide to throw him a bone, and educate him a bit.

"A bag? You know. A literal bag. But full of coins. Bags are usually a hundred gold a sack unless stated otherwise, but people in that sort of circle might use it to refer to money in general - I'm sorry sir, I don't want to sound rude, but why don't you know this?" you said with a frown "- there's got to be someone plugging the army too, God knows there's enough that people want to forget - especially after Wall Maria fell, and now Trost, it's probably all over the Helm if anybody cared to look," you shrug, and Aiblinger lets out a short, impressed noise.

"Admittedly, not a lot of officers are on the pulse in that sort of way, and those that are, are probably sympathetic," read: using substances themselves "- and have no inclination for stings," he's careful with his words, but you nod understandingly. That -- well, considering how many people Lord Wolfgang had in his pockets, that made sense. "I've never needed anything more than a bit of booze to set me right, so I'm not up on all of the slang, but," he smiles a bit "-if I need some advice, I'll assume I may be able to get your ear? Well - if Commander Erwin can spare you," - this makes you falter, and give him a strange look with just your eyes.

_What did that mean?_

"Oh, shit. Sorry, that reminded me of something, I completely forgot - give me a moment Recruit," he gets up, and quickly leaves the room, leaving you confused in silence until he returns with - what, a small wicker basket? You look at what's in his arms curiously, unable to see it properly until he sits down, delicately places it on a clean bit of the table, and then slowly slides it across.

"This came for you - care of Commander Erwin, he had it over nighted or something because the courier looked like Hell when he arrived. Usually anything that comes from the top of the chain sits in the staff cabin before it gets distributed to your dormitory but as you're here right now, you may as well have it," the curiousness in his tone is evident, but you are painfully slow in approaching the basket, tugging it onto your knees and letting out a short exhale. Obviously, Officer Aiblinger is dying to know what it is, because he doesn't really send personal mail with this sort of importance, and sending personal mail to a recruit? Unregimented? Well, it'd be a little salacious if the man wasn't known for his absolutely unmovable demeanour and unquestionable moral fibre - where other leaders might be corrupt, and certainly Aiblinger has let female officers proposition him in the past - Commander Erwin was untouchable, enviably upstanding. He's the living, breathing icon and he lives by these expectations, he has no family, and has never shown an inclination to start one. 

So this? Well, it's a bit surprising, and out of character.

You hesitate to open it there and then, but you're too excited, and a bit in shock that Erwin would send you something - he did say something about your father's file, but it must have been so long ago that your father served, how did he find an old file so fast? And to move it so quickly? An over night courier is expensive, too. He must really, really want to get on your good side prior to allocation, because he is willing to do anything for you to join the scouts, that much is clear. He's higher ranked than Aiblinger too - so surely his actions are above reproach from those below him, right? 

"Thanks, Officer Aiblinger," you mutter, feeling a soft, green material sitting in the basket - it's folded, but you recognise the shade instantly, who wouldn't? It's the colour of all army personnel cloaks. Upon pulling it out, you feel something heavy inside, and feel that it's got something inside of it. It's familiar in a vague way, to Aiblinger, because whilst he hasn't seen many go out to MPs families, it must be standard fare for the scouts - when someone dies in service, they try to pool together resources to send the exact, or a replica, uniform cloak along with a letter signed off by a superior accounting for the death of that person. It's meant to be a gentle gesture, but when casualties were too high - like the culling, it wasn't always possible. 

"Ah, they hand those out when someone in service passes - to a member of family usually. They try to, if the resources are there, I know it didn't always happen," he scratches again out of habit. " -like during the exodus to reclaim Wall Maria - there was too many... y'know.. to account for," he trails off awkwardly, but gives you a springboard to blurt out your thoughts without you really meaning to.

"Oh, daddy was in that," you said offhandedly, and when it became apparent he was looking at you expectantly to elaborate, you flush a little bit and turn the folded square of material over, seeing the Wings of Freedom emblazoned on it. For a moment though, you're just quiet and contemplative as your fingers trace over the feathers with a sort of reverence that makes Aiblinger feel a little intrusive, as he leers at you opening the package to sate his own curiosity about the out of character behaviour from the indomitable Survey Corps commander. "He was drafted out of the Garrison to the Scouts and was happy for it - because it was around about the time it was hard to be in the Garrison and justify your rations when everyone was starving after the refugee crisis. He survived a few expeditions and then was roped into being one of the soldiers gathering civilians to retake Wall Maria," you glance up at Aiblinger, whose gone quiet at your words "-he wasn't in the two hundred who returned," - surprisingly, however, the officer asks a different sort of intrusive question, and it catches you so off guard that you cannot help but leak a reply before it hit your mental filter.

"Your old man was a scout? Did he look like you?" he gestures vaguely to your face, making you blink a bit until you got what he was getting at. You're different where it counts, you tan darker, your eyes are wider, your hair is darker and has a slightly different texture, and even the frame of your nose is different - lips too, if he could see them. 

"Oh, no sir. He was like - well, everyone apparently. All I know is that take after my mother - I don't remember my biological parents very well," this was the threshold of uncomfortable for you, the light racial questioning rather than whether Ludolf had sexually assaulted you, somehow, was a lot more difficult for you in a palpable sense, and though Aiblinger hadn't been offensive at all, he now feels awkward. It's because the fact you do _not_ have your mother anymore just _because_ she looked different, well, that made these sorts of questions become inextricably stuck and woven into overall slew of feelings you had over that entire topic that any picking around it made you feel defensive and guarded. You have an emotional wall higher than Sina's and Aiblinger cannot help but feel like he dived head-first into it when you go silent and begin unfurling the Survey Corps cloak until you see a neat manilla coloured envelope covered in red scrawl - _private use only -_ which Aiblinger can tell is a personnel file without you even opening it.

"He really did it," you breathed out quietly, hurriedly opening the file " - Um, it's nothing improper sir. I - I told the Commander my daddy used to serve, because I know he really wants me to consider joining the Survey Corps because of what I did in Trost. He - he offered to pull up his old file for me, not to bribe me or anything! Just - just as a thank you," you're quick to add, not wanting to incriminate the man.

Aiblinger isn't too surprised, everybody knows Erwin Smith wants the Hero of Trost, he had made no bones about it - as it would be almost negligent on his part not to have someone with your extraordinary performance and titan body count immediately drafted as the first line of combat against the titan menace. It makes sense now, as well, why he'd have an over night courier speeding down to the training camp to deliver it - he would want you to have as much time contemplating your father's service to hopefully lull you closer to the scouts.

You crack open the file, and stop audibly breathing for a moment - again causing the sensation of being an intruder as Aiblinger looks at you in silence as your eyes widen slowly.

"Recruit?" when it feels like too much silence has passed.

There's an overall fitness biography from when your father originally passed training, with everything from weight to eye colour, and you look up at the oddly kind officer, eyes glistening just a bit under the light.

"I have my father's eyes," the statement hangs for a minute in silence, and all Dennis Aiblinger can feel is his heart sinking into his shoes a bit. He's not an overly emotional guy, but the way you're so happy over something so mundane - he'd have to be some sort of monster not to have an emotional response to it, because - well, he knows what personnel files look like. They're generally quite cold and clinical, with only comments from trainers, section commanders, and very rarely - in cases of exceptional service - notes from regiment commanders on their performance, and they're generally not very personal. He can see your finger stuck on your father's eye colour, and though he cannot see that you're smiling, he can see some of your upper cheeks pushing into your glistening eyes that tells him that you're smiling.

"I didn't know that, nobody told me - I don't - " you stop, quickly, before you choke in front of Officer Aiblinger. He might be nice on the surface, but there's no need to bare your soul like this, you think - and try to reign yourself in, but true to the stories, you can even see the expeditions listed that he'd survived, how far beyond the wall he'd gotten, and what his section commander thought of him - and considering your fathers friends were apparently all dead, this was the closest you'd ever get to hearing anything substantial about him, you think.

"I don't remember what they look like, just - feelings. When you're really little, your memories are just feelings, or tiny moments in time that get less and less clear as you grow up," you exhale shakily, before you catch sight of a neatly folded, second envelope with a small seal on it.

"Oh, there's something else here," you murmur, more to yourself than Aiblinger, and open it, seeing some rather neat, flowing text written in traditional ink, absent of any blots or run-off, with an almost press-print like precision. Even Lord Wolfgang - as gorgeous as his calligraphy was, would use a typewriter, so this felt quite personal as letters went, as you hadn't received a handwritten one in - God, - how long? Ever? 

You don't read it aloud, but feel Aiblinger leering none too discreetly to read it over your lap.

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓊𝓉𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓊𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝑜𝓇𝓅𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒿𝑜𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓈𝓀. - 𝐸𝒮 

This is too much - you feel your heart jump just a little in your chest, a small wave of disbelief washing over you now that you had physical proof of just how far the scout commander would go, to have you join his regiment. The express courier, the full file - in the speed he did it as well, and the note? Well, there was that, and also the presentation of it, with Aiblinger's explanation for the cloak it came wrapped in, you found yourself at a loss, unable to understand the amount of extra kindness and care that had been put into this attempt to lull you closer to his division.

He didn't _have_ to have it presented this way, Aiblinger made that much clear. Even though your father died doing a horrible task, a poorly disguised, inhumane culling of thousands of lives, Erwin still sent you his file with full military honours, no matter how small of a gesture it was, as a sort of apologia, even all these years later, for the sacrifice he had made. The handwritten note also told you that, not only did Erwin want you, but he wanted you badly enough that he'd even tow whatever line Lord Wolfgang might set, no matter how unreasonable, or do whatever it takes just to have you in his special operations crew.

He didn't want you because of things you couldn't control - like how you look, your malleable, political station, or anything like that.

Every man wants something, but Erwin Smith appears to want you for the right reasons - because of what you're talented at - because it'll help humanity, and unlike the goals of Lord Wolfgang, whatever is done in the name of the scouts? Nobody has to suffer for your mistakes unless you make them directly in the field. No one has to pay a terrible cost because titans are terrible enough, and so in a twisted way, being in Commander Erwin's service might just be that much more fairer than your own patron - which says a lot, considering forced transfer to the scouting legion has been used as a death sentence for unruly soldiers.

"Man, he wants you in the scouts pretty bad, huh?" Aiblinger breaks up your thoughts with a wry smile, and is idly shuffling his playing cards to fill the silence. "People can say whatever they will about Commander Erwin, but the guy's a class act, all the way through,".

You look at the Survey Corps cloak, note, and personnel file, feeling a warmth spidering through your chest from your heart - something you've only ever felt a handful of times, if you're true to yourself.

"He really is,"

Officer Aiblinger doesn't comment on your dazed, slightly dreamy tone, but does raise a brow.

_Someone's gained a fan._


	6. Defiance

_Chapter Six_

**Defiance**

Everybody thought that one day you might end up married to Dieter Wolfgang. There was a visceral, negative reaction the pair of you had to the assumption which went some ways in quashing it, but it was hard to picture you with anybody else. He was the other side to your coin, the pillar that you shadow behind, and because it was so hard for a lot of people to picture you without the other, it’s an easy assumption to make. It’s why the time apart is spent living in wildly different strokes, Dieter is, at heart, the well to do playboy, when he goes to high society mixers, he picks who he blends in with - and he’s elegant to a fault. When he rolls with the bored, yearning for rebellion sorts, he’s the leader of the charge - and on more than one occasion, you’ve had to fish him out of these places before he got in any serious trouble beyond Wall Sina. You on the other hand? Your places of choice were dive bars, rough and tumble taverns that doubled as fronts for those looking to take the edge off the work day, either with crushed pills or a long, stiff drink. There was occasional cross over, because for all of Leon Wolfgang’s control issues, he didn’t mind what you did as long as it didn’t get back to him and reflect poorly on him. He’s the sort of person whose industries cater to those with a need for excess and to plug their boredom with any bad habit they could afford - so naturally, it isn’t the worst thing for the pair of you to have an awareness of it.

And on the occasion where you’d both enter the same establishment, it was a come together, leave alone sort of deal. It’s why Dieter turns a blind eye to the bruises on your neck and occasional split lips, because he has an idea of how you’d gotten like that and he doesn’t want to picture it any more than you want to picture him bending over a heiress. You’re each other’s foil - the voice of reason for the other when it’s so desperately needed. It’s why Dieter is clammy with nerves even though he’s going straight for the security of the Military Police, because he doesn’t have you to keep a watchful eye out for him and get him out of trouble before he gets into it - and he can’t tell you to stop and stay inside when he thinks you’re one bad day away from not coming back in one solid piece.

A lot of the graduates also enrolled at the youngest age for enlistment too, so it’s not like Dieter felt many of them could particularly relate, either to the high octane socialite lifestyle,or the dirt-encrusted dive bar scene.

Well, the older, seasoned officers could to some extent, but he found himself at a loss trying to explain any of it to Alfred, so he’d just given up. Lord Wolfgang had been suspiciously quiet on the topic of your regiment, or if he’d be using his power to have you ejected from service to rejoin a private enterprise, so Dieter was stuck to chew on his worries.

“It’s just weird, not hearing from him about it - after everything you did. I think you may have even made the papers,” Dieter says, uncomfortable at the fact the last letter he had gotten from Lord Wolfgang hadn’t addressed you once, and the day of allocation was baring down on both of you with how close it was.

“Dieter, what have I said about worrying about things you can’t control?” you sigh, a little exasperated - his need for perfection, and to know everything, did not partner well with his general anxiety.

“Not to do it,” Dieter replied wryly, watching as you idly re-string your guitar a short way away from the stables.

In his free time, he’d picked up some string and some more stationary for you to scribble patchy music notes. You weren’t one for keeping a diary, and airing your most vulnerable thoughts, but out of all the lessons in courtly manner from Dieter’s governess, about the only thing you’d really cared about were things you felt you control over, choice, and creative freedom. Music lessons were one of those things, though Dieter never could hold a note to save his life, he’d always joke - and say you had him covered.

_You’re good enough for both of us._

You’d scribble things down in a leather journal he’d picked out for you until the pages ran out, each bit of beige coloured paper where you agonised over, or naturally fell into what melody would fit the ugly smash of words you’d put down. You’re not one for overly flowery metaphor or insincere rhyme for the sake of rhyme. There’s a kind of bluntness not found in typical performances within households in Wall Sina, wrapped in the soft, dulcet tones of your voice that Dieter had always found so soothing.

“C’mon, ease me through mucking out the stables - this really isn’t my scene,” Dieter pouts a bit, clearly unhappy with the chore he’d been lumped with that morning - the idea of a Wolfgang getting this close to horse faeces is frankly laughable. “- it’s been a while,” he adds, a sad tinge to his grin.

You might not be a playwright, but each page in the battered, once-elegant journal is well worn and loved all the same. You’re not really good at writing thick paragraphs about how you feel, either, but notes and melody came easily, you could smash your feelings into a graceless title and the rest flowed out like water. Traditional songs were called things like _Fatherland, The Fall of Man_ and _The Three Butchers._ Each page in your nameless journal however, was titled hodgepodge of crude feelings to fill in where genuine diary entries should go, titling songs with things that sounded like they fit better in a book than what should be a snappy song title.

_If you were me. Pretty girls just ruin my day, Boys with Bourbon eyes_ \- to name a few - Dieter noticed if he paged through it, and just read the titles, he’d get a decent sense for where your head is at, at least at the time of venting. Slight lack of convention aside, he can’t really find fault in it - it’s honest, and you seem to feel better for it, so the least he can do is nurture it.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur in response, nudging the guitar to a more comfortable position on your lap, sitting with your back against a stable wall. You winced a little as the sun hits your eyelashes when you glance up, watching the silver-haired boy huff and rake at the piles of manure with a grimace.

“It’s been kind of hard, I’ve been a bit blocked up since Trost,” a tinge of bitterness in your tone - you’d favoured going out and getting hurt rather than sitting in and writing it down. “-haven’t felt much like writing or playing, you know,” - though you’d been trying to rectify that, at least a bit, it was easier said than done. You spent most of your time pouring over your father’s file with Lotte, and trying to figure out how you felt about it all, trying to shake the feeling of loss you felt from the battle - and Longinus, whose delirious smile just wouldn’t leave.

“For old times sake?” Dieter said with a little half-shrug. “Might be a while before I get to hear it again,” - which earns a small, slightly sour smile from you.

There’s a small silence after that - filled only with the sound of Dieter raking along the stables and you flicking and turning pages of your little well-worn book that was perched precariously on your left knee, arms draped over the dark wood guitar.

“You know I only really took this seriously for you,” though admittedly, now you just did it because you enjoyed the release - as a guiltless reprieve from the constant turmoil you were in, either from Ludolf or from your own punishing inner dialogue that would shun you for the way you’d escape out of your skin and let yourself get mopped into a maelstrom of men who were bad for you and habits that were even worse.

Dieter remembers when he was a little boy, barely into double digits. He remembers even back then, just how big the guitar would look wedged on your small lap. You used to sit on the end of his bed with your head tilted right the way down so you could hide behind your hair so as not to show the flash of alloy in your mouth, because you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“I just wanted you to like me,” you add with a mirthless smile behind your clothe mask, nostalgia washing over the pair of you. Dieter remembers how long it took for him to forgive himself for how awful he’d been the day you’d first come home - how the words _eugh, take her back daddy -_ haunted him even at a young age. There had been stretches of time - years even - where the relationship between you was stilted, and unbalanced, and you spent it scurrying after him quietly, like a little mouse. It was easier after the near month you'd spent in bed, when you could finally start saying consonants and talking - really talking. Guiltily, Dieter remembers the bits of his childhood where he regarded you with some misinformed contempt, and a visceral, aesthetic dislike that he had to spend some time in learning how to grow away from. 

"More than anything," you exhaled softly "-so I hung around like a bad habit until you learned to put up with me," - _you were my first and only friend, for a very long time._

“I’m glad you did,” he says, setting the rake against the wall to take a short break “ - I was such a little shit back then,” Dieter sighs, earning a derisive snort. He couldn't even really take credit for the evolution in maturity. It took days, and days - weeks on top of weeks, begrudgingly shared lessons with his governess and then eventually, quiet, comfortable nights where you'd play him something so he'd fall asleep.

Dieter learned to love you, but once he did, he never stopped, not for a second.

“ _Back then?_ ” genuine humours seeping into your tone now, as if to say he hasn’t changed. 

“Hey!” Dieter huffs a bit with an exaggerated pout “-I grew out of it,” - he adds, falling quiet as you begin to strum a few chords idly. Both of you, for a moment, think about how you'll miss this - these stolen moments that still retain a little of the magic they had as children. Even with everything between you, even over the three years with Ludolf - there's still these small moments. 

"Mmm," you make a non-committal noise, not agreeing or disagreeing as you began to strum out a familiar tune, callouses of your fingertips tugging the strings into a soft, aimless melody. It's these easy conversations about nothing in particular that you were going to miss - because they're not the same in letters. He knows it, and you know it - and all of this is just some hamfisted attempt at making the day feel normal, because allocation is happening the evening, and various senior officers and commanders are riding from division to division to recruit for their regiments. It's spread over a week, and by the end of it, every training division in every region has allocated ranks, South is the very last, and West division is second to last. Today is the day everybody says goodbye to their dead - all bodies accounted for, all missing soldiers with appropriate uniform and black letters sent to any remaining family on file. 

Pyres are built in the distance, and in truth, they're already burning - because there are just so many dead, and their smell fills the air. 

"I'm proud of you, Dieter," you say - quite suddenly - not just for maturing into the kind of person who could love somebody like you, but for maturing over the three years in training. Three years ago, if you'd have told Dieter he'd be mucking out a stable himself, he'd have laughed in your face. His spoiled and overly coddled nature had long since been tempered, and in truth, even though you'd fudged a lot of key exams and pivotal points in your cadet career to ensure that Dieter would get in the top ten ranking - and spent hours of one to one time sharpening his weaker skills just to get him into his best form. 

"You've grown into a good soldier - a good man, and the MPs are lucky to have you," - you feel an ache in your chest as you speak, not dulled by the soothing tones of the guitar for once.

All you could think about was your father's personnel file.

"Ah shut up, you're so embarrassing," Dieter huffs, but there's no real meaning in his tone, his mouth in a lop-sided smile over your words, and he's preening despite himself - because unlike the people who tell him things because of who he is, you've only ever told Dieter to the truth, and if you have to lie - even for Lord Leon Wolfgang? Than you'd simply refuse to say a word at all, and as frustrating as that could be, there was a respect, at least.

The poor boy just has no idea you're going to break his heart.

* * *

The pyres burn for hours, slaked with wood, oil and bones. The scent permeates heavily in the air, and brings up a smoky fog of grey ash into the breeze, tempered only by the burning oils occasionally dousing the fodder at the bottom to try and make the burning and mourning of the dead at least a little more palatable to the senses. People had spent most of their day saying goodbye to one another, knowing full well where they'll be going after this, and that whatever happens, no one knows who their section commander is, or where they'll end up a month, a year from today. Everyone's here to say goodbye though, to mourn the windblown ashes of their comrades in arms who barely made it past graduation before the battle of Trost.

Standing there, next to Dieter and Lotte, and some of your graduating class, the words have finally run out, with only the crackling pyres and the ambient sounds of everyone around you to break it.

The warmth of the fire washed over you, and you could feel the weight of Dieter and Lotte's hands on either shoulder.

You can feel the weight of Longinus not being there to graduate, every time you close your eyes you can see the blood seeping through his teeth. You'd tried, briefly, to explain how you'd found him to Lotte and Dieter - and their expressions had almost been too much to bare, before you fell silent. You did, also, speak about what Commander Erwin had done - Longinus's last moments were painfully intimate, but openly shared, because he'd have done anything to end the pain that he was in. He took one look between you, and Longinus, and how the metal box of pills trembled in your hands and was more than willing to take the burden. He never brought it up again, never questioned the source, and didn't seem remotely bothered by whomever was plugging the cadets in the first place. The man had his priorities in order, and when it came to you? Was able to expend any amount of effort to try to keep you.

He was even kind.

_You've had a chaotic time of it, haven't you Recruit?_

His touch was soft, and warm - his words a gentle, reassuring lilt that you would never have imagined being directed at you, from a man like that. 

"Whatever happens, I want you to know that - I enjoyed our time together, y'know?" through the flames, you see a glint of auburn hair lit up in a bright shade of red on the other side of the pyre. Before Dieter or Lotte have a moment to say anything to that, the red-headed figure begins walking around to the three of you, a dark green cloak breezing behind them. It's surprising to see an officer down the cadets in the pyres, mourning - most were around the large outdoor platform which had been turned to an impromptu stage for each representative of the respective regiments to try and openly recruit cadets in.

"Oh, hello again sir," looking up at him - he's still regimented after all, and you arenot.

"I don't think that's necessary," he closes his eyes a moment, a small, appreciative smile on his face. "Considering you killed the titan that was partway through biting through me like an oat bar, I think you can just call me Klaus," - he then looks over at Lotte and Dieter - and introduces himself as scout Niklaus Neumann, a member of Section Commander Miche's squadron. "Good to see so many of West Division made it through Trost," he looks over at Dieter, and then Lotte, nodding once - before turning to face you. You can feel Lotte and Dieter staring holes into you as Niklaus begins to speak, 

"Every cadet that's made it to allocation is a survivor, so when my Section Commander was looking for scouts to support bringing in the fresh recruits, well, I thought I'd volunteer," he's still smiling when he says this, but it seems almost out of place considering how heavy the atmosphere is. "- see the survivors for myself. Numbers are good. Better than North division," he says, glancing over at the clusters of cadets around different pyres. " - And I was wondering when I'd get to see you again - so I was trying to. I wanted to thank you properly when I got released from medical, so this was the best way," a hand lazily falls on his lower left side, where you remember him being bandaged hastily when he'd been recovered in Trost. 

"Volunteering for round up duty," he sighs, and grimaces a little. "I cannot imagine many will want to sign up for the scouts though, after all of this," he muses.

"Forgive my forwardness sir but I'm a little surprised you'd volunteer for something like this after what you've been through, I'd want early retirement," Dieter snorts, but he's looking between you and Niklaus, cogs visibly turning behind his eyes "-not to encourage more people to join the spare blood regiment - no offence," he adds lazily, ignoring how Lotte grimaces at his callous tones. With all of the death in the air, it would be downright offensive, but it's a view shared by a lot of people - Niklaus has heard it before, and though he's known many of his comrades to have died en masse, the visceral anger he would have felt towards someone calling his regiment that had also died long ago.

"This one," he gestures to you "-is worth it. You didn't see it, but she was kicking titan ass left, right and centre. Between her and the Yeager project, we might just stand a real shot at this," - this makes Dieter give him a look - a none too pleased one, as he goes on to brush off the scout's words.

"She's joining the Garrison," his eyes flickering over to you as you say this, waiting for you to quietly agree.

You say nothing.

You do nothing.

"Right?"

Lotte looks nervous - having caught onto this earlier than Dieter, watching you pour over your father's file for hours, and even discuss some of it with her - she was certain she'd seen you standing in front of the body mirror in the corner of the dorm room - holding the green Survey Corps cloak over your chest that the file had been so carefully wrapped in. Dieter looks at you, and - in a surprisingly perceptive move, snaps his attention to Lotte when he sees her looking at her feet nervously. Considering how angry Dieter had gotten with your reckless endangerment to your own life, enough that he'd clocked you in the face in front of _superior officers -_ Lotte had abstained from bringing it up. 

"You cant tell me you're seriously considering throwing your life away to join the scouts," Dieter makes another derisive noise again, not caring for if he'd offend Niklaus, who goes silent at the exchange. " - you're joining the Garrison and racing marbles off the wall with the rest of them, then you're going to retire - marry a nice boy from Einrich College, - maybe pop out a few kids and grow old with me. You're not gonna do that if you join the scouts," he hisses through his teeth, before turning to Niklaus, eyes lit up by the flames of the pyre, making them seem that much more intense as he rounds on the man.

"You need to stop putting ideas in her head. All you people care about are numbers," he adds, lips curled into a sneer "-and Lord-Father will never allow it," - he turns to you when he says this, using his height to bare down on you as he does, hands landing firmly on his hips in a look of flat disapproval. 

"For God's sake V, you can't really be thinking about doing this - were you even going to mention it, or were you just going to wait until all the speeches were done?" irritation seeping into his tone, but his eyes betray him, they're shining suspiciously under the fire light, and for all of his irritation and anger, you can see it comes from a place from true concern, and that he believes everything he says. You shouldn't be here. Your mission set forward by Lord Wolfgang was complete, he's joining the MPs and by all rights, you should be free to have the kind of life you deserve - what you somehow managed to accomplish in Trost should be the endpoint, not the start of a deadly career path with a high mortality rate.

"Dieter - please - I - " your naturally soft spoken tones never bode well for an argument, and in truth, your worn down state in Trost spoke volumes of how far into your distressed fugue state you'd been, because truth be told, you don't shout, or even curse too often, having learned long ago to school your tone into something demure, gentle, with a pleasing submissive purr that was generally something most men seemed to prefer. 

"-Commander Erwin is hellbent on having her in the scouts, but I think," it's Niklaus who interjects - perhaps he pities your inability to truly be angry or even argue for yourself to Dieter, because it's not like he's saying anything particularly bad. Hell, it's actually quite sweet in an odd way - he's just trying to help you in the best way he knows how, and to him, that's convincing you not to join the Survey Corps. 

He's a good man, Niklaus muses - because reflecting on Dieter's points - no matter how callously delivered - well, he cannot particularly disagree.

"It'd be remiss of him not to be, considering her titan body count, but I don't think it's what anybody else wants that matters, cadet," he looks at you rather than Dieter when he says this, and then over at the stage as people began to draw themselves away from the funeral pyres, heading towards where various senior officers were lining up in preparation for a formal address.

"It's what _she_ wants," he finishes, before looking at the three of you over his shoulder when he turns to leave. "-sorry to cut this short, just food for thought. I need to be up there with the other officers - maybe I'll see you around," - he makes quick work of leaving, sensing the tension between you all, which felt like it might just boil over. It was, thankfully, stifled by the bodies of cadets walking towards the stage, signalling the group of you to leave the pyre you'd chosen to stand at. 

Bitterly, you think, you don't even know whose remains are Longinus's anymore. There were more who died, of course - and their lack of presence in the dormitories and in the training camp was felt, but none quite so absolutely burned into your mind and your chest as much as the boy who had been nice to you. Kind to you. 

Maybe if things would have been different, you two could have been friends.

You walk through the cadets who don't move, until some of them recognise you, and begin making out a path for you to get close to the front the stage, Dieter opens his mouth to say something, as both he and Lotte trail behind you, but he's forced to keep quiet when a tall, striking figure begins to walk into the centrefold of the platform. Standing impossibly tall, radiating a sense of power was Erwin Smith, with Section Commander Miche Zacharius, some soldiers you don't quite recognise - Aiblinger is off to the side, and also, Niklaus. Maybe it was the light of the pyres, or just knowing who they were, but the silent power that they exuded as enough to silence the entire West Division by doing nothing but move to the centre stage.

Everybody salutes on instinct, and you see Erwin look out over the crowd - if he noticed you, his stare did not linger, and he launches straight into his speech.

"I am Commander Erwin Smith, of the Scouting regiment, also known as the Survey Corps," even speaking like this, loud and booming, his voice manages to sound so utterly rich and velvety to your ears, effortlessly demanding complete quiet as the severity of his striking height and piercingly blue eyes washed over the crowd of recruits. 

"Today is allocation day, and to be blunt - this is my invite to you all to join the Scouts," you feel the way Dieter tenses, and him consistently side-eying the way you hardly blink when the commander talks, hanging onto every word with baited breathe. "-This may be a hard sell, as all of you will have suffered from the breach of Trost, and witnessed the horror of titans for yourselves," he pauses - and the crowd still remains mute - speaking volumes of how much of a presence he had "-however, unlike any other moment in our recent history, we have gained an unprecedented advance towards victory in our continuous war," - it's now that you feel his stare land on you, just for a moment - a blink and you'll miss it sort of thing, and you could have just imagined it, but you swear you saw it.

"I'm referring to Eren Yeager," - you exhale a bit when he says this, vaguely recalling Neumann's words about how the elite Garrison guard had managed to plug the breach. In fact, Erwin Smith's speech is utterly shocking in that he jumps feet first into divulging the exact nature of the intelligence he has, because if he's expecting anyone to give their souls for his regiment, he wants them to know what they're walking into.

He talks about horrifying mortality rates in the range of 90% - and how even the most optimistic estimates wager that so many more of them will die, and whomever joins at this point in time, will not only be expected to join the expedition to reclaim Wall Maria, and place their trust in Eren Yeager, but that thirty percent will likely perish in the process. Some of the cadets they're shoulder to shoulder with will not make it to the end of the year, and it's now that you can feel Dieter digging his hand into your arm so tightly that you think he might even be bruising you a bit.

You felt your heart stop in your chest for a moment, and imagined the stormy, determined eyes of your father - looking much like yours, and his doom-driven order by the Crown to try and retake Wall Maria all of those years ago. The difference here, however, is that the years long battle route the scouts had used had been destroyed by the Trost gate being sealed, and this attempt was genuine. It was honest to God genuine, a real attempt - armed with a titan boy and potential intelligence on the actual nature of the great beasts themselves that promised humanity at least a _chance_ of it being successful this time around. This time it'd be led by Erwin, not the twelfth commander that your father had died under - but someone who, despite ghastly mortality rates, had improved the overall survivability of the regiment by an order of magnitude through sheer brilliance and tactical formation skills. 

_Reclaiming Wall Maria - just like daddy tried to. But we have an actual shot this time. We could - I could - ...._

"Now that you know the truly dismal state of affairs, ask yourself... can you give your heart for the sake of humankind?" he's said this speech in the North, and East division already, but each time - there's a true fire behind it that could rival even the brightest of pyres that're lit.

"That is all - those who wish to join other regiments may leave," the Commander breathes out - this speech was tried and true, it's how he manages to sort the weak from the strong, because so many of his ranks end up being transferees and victims of inner military politics at times that wanted a longer method of execution or simply to get rid of problem soldiers that, when it came to the initial recruitment drive, he wanted people that had some genuine desire to fight. It's the ones who wanted to that often worked better in teams, and successful cooperation was how scouts survived. Simple.

"Don't do this," he hisses through his teeth, but it's now you see how overcast with mute despair his eyes had become. "- you heard the Commander - it's basically suicide, please - you don't have to do this. Father might even pull you out completely, but don't do this - " he sounds less aggressive now, more pleading.

Lotte is even nodding, and trying to pull your hand away as well, but you pull them back, feeling cadets stare a bit - the ones who know who you are on sight, that is. Others had began turning away regardless, as the Commander had struck a true chord in them, many were frightened, others didn't want to live through a horror like they'd experienced in Trost, and some just wanted to collect their rations, their pay, and call it a day - not fight titans because of some idyllic urge to reclaim what humanity lost.

"Dieter, Lotte - it's okay," you say, softly, looking up into the glowing, blue eyes of the commander as he looks down aimlessly over the cadets, the numbers actively dwindling as he does so.

_People are looking at me right now. The two on the left are particularly obvious. What I say right now - it matters. People are listening._

"Even if I died on my first expedition, it'd still be worth it - and not just because we're close to achieving something," you turn to Dieter first, expression hidden behind your mask, but eyes still reflecting a glassy stare that was packed to the brim with emotion, even with so many cadets in the front row looking at you and none too subtly listening.

"Dieter, you're the only family I've ever known, and I love you so much, but I have to do this. What I did in Trost - I could have done better if I was led better, if I had more experience, more people could still be here, alive with us. Longinus could still be here with us. I don't care about what titans are made or what their nature is. I just know I never want a titan to come knocking on our gates ever again, and that I'm good at killing them, even if I died on my first expedition - if I stopped at least one stupid death from happening - it will have been worth it, all of it," you say emphatically.

You remember Longinus Weiners bloody smile, and the way he'd called you Little Treasure.

You remember the scout who had been consumed whole by a bounding, abnormal titan who snatched him by his own ODM wires.

You remember the bloody smears in the carnage of Trost.

You remember the amalgam of limbs and crushed bodies in careless, disgusting balls of regurgitated titan vomit that so carelessly mingled all of those lives into a meaningless heap as though they meant nothing.

"But why does it have to be _you?"_ Dieter says, his tone strangled and frustrated "-haven't you done enough? For God's sake, look at these bastards!" he crudely gestured to the cadets around them - some of whom actually flinch to get away from his arm, and blink in surprise - many looking too shocked to be angry at his casually degrading tone of voice.

"Some of them made your life hell for three years, and the ones who didn't, definitely didn't make it easier, and you're so willing to throw your life away for them? You're better than them, you deserve more and you always have which is why I don't want you to do this in some hamfisted fucking attempt at being like your father," he snarls "-because if he hadn't been a scout, he might still be alive!".

You winced over your mask, as Dieter was pulling no punches with his words, and this was becoming a very public incident - you can even feel the stares of the senior officers on you along with the commander. People were already watching to see what the Hero of Trost would do, and this spectacle was capturing all of their attentions.

"But then I never would have met you, Dieter - and I know it might not seem like it sometimes, like now. But I promise you, I was happy for a while," - your soft spoken words manage to shatter the anger on his face, and he looks like he's been slapped, not because you said anything salacious, but because you'd manage to read through his anger utterly.

Part of him suspected you hated being patroned by his father so much that joining the Scouts might just be a way for you to break free completely, and you instantly dash through that thought without him needing to articulate it. It causes his angry tone to instantly give way to a defeated sort of warble, the kind that was fraught with voice cracks and thick emotion.

"So why are you doing this?" - you felt something in your chest crumble the way he said it - the way he looks at you - so you turn away, in favour of looking up at the stage, only to see the burning stares of both tall, blond men - Miche and Erwin, baring down on you with quietly calculating gazes, they too, both wondering what the Hero of Trost might decide.

"Dieter, I do not have a single memory where I have ever been free. I have always been the ward of Lord-Father for as long as I can clearly remember. I have constantly been in somebodies service, and never once have I gotten to choose. Not once. Getting us here was the last thing I had to do before Lord-Father would split us apart completely anyway, but this? This gets to be my choice - and as much as I love you - believe me I do - I choose freedom," Dieter and Lotte's eyes follow your finger as you point upwards, as though silently calling both of them out for watching, you see Erwin tilt his head back ever so slightly, blinking a bit and glancing down, as though also following the crude point of your finger.

It landed squarely on his breast pocket of his outer jacket, directly over the Wings of Freedom.

_I choose freedom._

"Even if I died on my first mission, even if I didn't make it back from Wall Maria, just like daddy - it still wouldn't matter, because I'd have been free, and it would have been my choice," you swallow thickly, and say perhaps the worst thing you've ever had to say, because you need Dieter to understand, even if he hates you forever for making this choice, you need him to understand.

"This is my one chance to do something unfailingly good, because I don't care that the pay is shit and the survival odds are worse, because given a choice Dieter, I'd rather be like my daddy than yours, and I think you know why,"

There's a tense silence after that, besides the suddenly dramatic whispers between some of the watching cadets.

Dieter stares at you in silence, and it's now that you see there are unshed tears in his eyes.

"Lord-Father is going to be furious, you know that. I'm not going to be able to protect you,"

"I know,"

Dieter swallows thickly and audibly at his answer, and jerks away from Lotte and you when he realises how many people are intruding on this personal, yet wholly public moment, and actually shoulder checks the nearest soldier out of the way as he storms off to join the pile of top ten graduates for the Military Police, not even looking back.

"Die for your stupid Scouts then," he spits out bitterly, however childish the sentiment is, it still stings, burns and hurts when he says it. Lotte is looking between his retreating form, and you - who now stands as tall as you can, feeling the awed stares of some of the cadets as you raise your chin behind your mask, squaring your shoulders back and trying to look as unperturbed as possible, before putting your fist to your chest in a thunderous salute, eyes locking in on Commander Erwin, and Section Commander Miche briefly.

_You better make all this worth it, Commander Erwin._

"Actually! I plan to live for the scouts. Everybody here - I hope you do the same, wherever you end up. Even if some of you didn't like me - or hated me - or whatever - all of you survived, and you're standing here because you didn't desert, no matter how bad it got out there - because of that, you have all of my respect - and I'd be willing to fight for any of you, as hard as I can! So please, wherever you end up, live as long as possible!" though you're soft spoken, and not one for giving speeches - certainly you felt you're not half as eloquent as the commander, you knew for a fact that a lot of the people present were waiting to see what you would do.

Lotte looks at you wide-eyed, a flush on her bright features - because you're looking mostly at her when you talk, but you see Alfred looking at you similarly before they turn to leave.

As much as you don't think much of yourself, your effort to back Commander Erwin and your own decision, to show you did, indeed, possess a backbone, and would take him up on his offer to work around your patronage, your words seem to inspire something. It wasn't the same kind of inspiration that Erwin Smith induced, who oozed lofty ideals and a steadfast determination. He was inspiring, yes, because the way he presented humanity's goals - you could see he believed them with his whole heart, and so often in their age, people stop believing in things so easily that it's strangely endearing just how voracious his beliefs are.

You also wanted to do something unfailingly good - not continue the legacy of illicit activity that Wolfgang had you webbed in.

You wanted to defend this man's dream which, for someone so blunt and pragmatic, it's awe-inspiring just how much he's able to sell the fact he believes humanity stands any chance against the titans at all. You've never believed in anything quite like that, and much like you'd said in the staff cabin, you wished with all your heart that you could believe in something that much.

For now, you could settle for defending somebody else's beliefs, and protecting a dream, even if it's a death sentence - it's better than being Lord Leon Wolfgang's ward.

So, your words - honest as they are, and what you'd done for a lot of the cadets there - it inspires something different, as it doesn't sell them any lofty ideas about winning against titans, it's just somebody who had been neck deep in the horror, whose on the same peer level as all of them, finding their own reasons to join the scouts - which felt just as valid as all of the avenging of humanity rhetoric that Erwin had ever spouted.

"You got it Hero Girl!" someone yells from the back as some people decide to leave, but, quite a few more than expected actually stay, some of them shaking, some of them looking at you rather than Miche and Erwin - Maria Weber being one of them, visibly grimacing the entire time.

Miche raises a brow at the yelled words, glancing at Erwin, who then reflects your salute, but addresses the entire crowd - ignoring Miche's expression.

"This is an earnest salute, to all of you who have decided to join us - you're all hereby accepted to the Scouting Regiment! You've done incredibly well to endure your fears and doubts, and still stand before me. You're all incredibly brave, and from the bottom of my heart, I respect each and every one of you for your continued service,"

A chorus of "Yes sir!" fills the air, fists pounded on chests - he looks out over the crowd, eyes falling on different soldiers until they land on yours, and he nods once - almost imperceptibly. 

Some are crying, some are expressionless, and there's quite a few who are looking at you, with some having stepped backwards when you had pointed directly at the Wings of Freedom on his uniform rather boldly, and inadvertently singled yourself out of the crowd even more.

_Heh, the Hero of Trost is smaller than I thought_

_If she can do it - we can do it--_

_Metal Mouth must be out of her damn mind --_

_I can't believe I'm doing this shit..._

_Between her and Yeager - this won't be a total crapshoot_

_I can't stop crying---why..._

Commander Erwin watches the way you continue to salute, even with tears stinging in your eyes from the words you'd exchanged with the young Wolfgang. He remembers the bone deep fear you'd shown in the staff cabin, and what you'd said about Lord Wolfgang potentially being a far worse, and more realistic end than a titan. The Wolf Lord is, by all rights, terrifying in the sense of the amount of power he surely has, with limited to no need to exert - as it's purely obvious just from the amount of donation lists he's on for different interest groups that ran from Wall Sina to Wall Rose. From the brief, emotional window he'd had into whatever relationship you had with the Wolfgang heir too - not only did you have to contend with a fear of death by titan, consequences from an overly influential Lord Wolfgang, but also, you appeared to have given up on someone you considered family.

Your only family, as he knew from studying your personnel file.

When Niklaus begins leading the recruits away, and it becomes quieter, with only you standing there with a small smatter of others who've yet to be rounded up, you see Commander Erwin throw you an unreadable look.

"Get some rest, soldier. We'll speak soon," his eyes are full of promise when he says it, and you feel your heart jump a bit in your chest out of nerves as he turns away.

_She really is having a rough time of it -_ Erwin muses to himself, though it could always be worse, he needs that window into who you are, so he can understand what it is he needs to do for you to make this sacrifice worth it, and to find out how to handle Lord Wolfgang when the time comes. There's likely hundreds of tragic stories buried in the army ranks, but Erwin Smith wants to know yours - he wants to know you inside and out and find a way to make this work, because in his pragmatic efforts to claim you directly for his own regiment - he has, in fact, split a family apart, for once not through death of a soldier in service, and it isn't a good feeling.

He doesn't regret it, but it does feel rather awful, all contexts considered - Ludolf, Dieter's words, your father's pointless demise, and then, whatever ghastly, unfortunate thing had happened for you to be called the litany of harsh names he'd heard so easily tumble out of members of West Division 104th when he'd been doing some probing at the training camp. He has to find some way to reverse, or mitigate, or do something to balance out the three years of unprecedented horror to make all of these sacrifices worth it in Squad Levi for you, or he'd have failed his basic promise to help you, even if he hadn't stated it in such obvious words, his gentle requests to know if you were in some sort of trouble had all but spelled it out.

After seeing the report that was going to go to Nile Dok, on top of the feedback of what you did in Trost despite it all, despite having every reason to want to throw your comrades into the nearest titan mouth rather than suffer for them, he has to make it just a bit more palatable for you to be one of his. He has to make some of this suffering seem worth it - and make at least one aspect of your military career just a bit less....

Horrific.

_What happened to you, little recruit?_


	7. Truth

_Chapter Seven_

**Truth**

You’re not a stranger to the sensation of heartbreak, because you’d otherwise be troubled by the emptiness inside of you, if there wasn’t something - _someone -_ to fill it. The difference here is that the pain is ongoing, almost tangible - completely stifling and unavoidable. It is not easily replaced by the body of another nameless labourer in a dark corner somewhere. There’s a Dieter Wolfgang shaped hole in your chest and it feels like you’re drowning if you stay in your head too long. Lotte says she’ll talk to him when she can - but she’s squared off to join the Garrison, and you’re immediately corralled by Niklaus and the supporting officers for those who’d been talked into joining the corps.

Surprisingly, it’s Maria Weber who spares you a thought, brushing past you as you’re on your way to get to the Special Ops crew and know where you’ll be going by sunrise.

“The sun wont stop just because Dieter Wolfgang doesn’t get what he wants,” she’s not one to comfort you the way Lotte would, and being that this is the woman who spent a good amount of time tormenting you, the situation already strange enough. “-He’ll get over it,” she nods once at you as a goodbye as you give her an odd look with just your eyes.

“Friend of yours?” Niklaus asks, as the pair of you walk in a strangely comfortable silence.

“No,” you mutter shortly, lapsing into quiet again.

You really weren’t in the head space to think about whatever oddness was going on behind Weber and her behaviour towards you after Trost, and brush it off for the moment being. He’s about to take you to where you’ll be staying, because you don’t need to be registered - you’re going directly under the purview of Commander Erwin and so preparations were already made beforehand to have you travelling and acclimating to the Special Operations Squad. As a result, you’re quickly shepherded away from anyone you may have even vaguely recognised who might have stuck around for the scouting legion.

“Are you going to be alright?” Niklaus asks, as most of the front and centre stage had been privy to yours and DIeter’s argument - and the red-head also felt some blame for it, too, considering he instigated the topic, even if the blow-up was inevitable considering your ultimate regiment choice, he certainly didn’t soothe the situation.

_I don’t know._

“I’m always alright,” - at his unconvinced look, you add the casual emphasis on his name "-it's fine, Klaus," and allow him to lead you by gently placing his hand against your upper back as you walked beside him. You supposed the intimacy is a given, as he’s probably feeling a particular sort of way around you, given how you met in Trost.

You try to sound self-assured when you say it. Whether Niklaus buys it, you’re not certain, but he doesn’t probe the topic further. As naturally soft-spoken as you are, it reminds him of the way a gently chiding authority may speak, as though the notion you could be anything _but_ was silly. 

Niklaus might have believed it too, if he didn’t know what trauma in your eyes looked like from the ruins of Trost, because he can see that same overcast look in them right now. He wants to say something when he sees that look, really, he does. He's spent days wondering what he'd say to you when he finally sees you in person. Now that the time has come, he's at a bit of a loss - and once again unable to paper over the distressed state you're in, just the same as in the carnage of Trost. The thought of asking you out for a drink sometime is, for the moment being, completely dashed - doing something like that, even as a thank you for saving his life, didn't feel right on the heels of such an emotional sort of argument.

"The Special Operations Squad are staying not too far from here, you'll be expected in one of the spare rooms - if your trunk is packed, I can help you move it tonight. usually you'd stay in your dorm one last night and then report to your Section Commanders for first registration in the morning, but Special Ops have their own schedule and prerogative, so..." he trails off, and wonders if he should feel bad for the fact you won't be extending your goodbyes to your comrades and get that morsel of extra time. That, and you'd be leaving Dieter behind after a fight - it's all quite awful, and he can't do anything to help, he realises grimly.

"It's packed," you say shortly, as you're quickly up to speed on what his words mean - it means that you're leaving here and now, and that the words - _die for your stupid Scouts, then,_ might be the last thing you hear from Dieter in a long while. It hurts - and it doesn't help the raw, exposed nerve sensation you have at just how public and awful that discussion had been. 

Then, there's Commander Erwin's words - as if you needed _more_ anxiety, right? What could he possibly want to talk about so quickly? He's gotten what he wants, after all, you chose the scouts and there's no way word would have reached Lord Wolfgang so quickly.

"But I was wondering if you could walk me to where Commander Erwin is - if you think he'd see me. He said he wanted to talk to me in the morning but I don't think I can stomach that sort of anxiety after an evening like this," it comes out just a little more bitter than you're comfortable letting slip, but Niklaus doesn't comment on it. He supposes it would be quite anxiety inducing to have a talk with your most superior commanding officer bar the Premier, the very moment right after allocation - and you had not been warned about just what would be entailed with choosing the scouts. Well, yes, the death rates, and the expeditions that even fresh recruits would be taking part in - certainly, but nothing on what it would actually mean logistically speaking, because of lot the Special Ops do is shrouded in secrecy as it rarely leaves the direct inner circle unless necessary just as a matter of course.

People know what Commander Erwin wants them to know.

"It'll be fine, I don't think you have to worry," Niklaus says, though in truth, he isn't sure what the talk would be about - though there's more than one plausible reason for it - there was a lot of changes happening to facilitate the reclaim of Wall Maria, and you'd be in the foremost responsible squad with no time to acclimate being a big one, but you glance at Niklaus, before shaking your head. He doesn't have the context of your background, not properly, and you're not about to give it, but there is far too much going on in your head to sleep soundly with this over your head as well. 

Frankly, every part of you wanted to lick your wounds, or run to Dieter and plead his forgiveness, and sleep anywhere but here - with anyone but yourself, because you just feel so raw - like every emotional nerve ending is on fire. 

"But he'll be up in one of the offices, probably running recruitment numbers or something before bed - he tends to burn the candle at both ends if what I know about him is true," Niklaus relents under your watery look, and walks you to where the senior officers have taken temporary residence to convene and sort through their numbers in preparation for a full head count tomorrow, and to get a rough idea for their yearly reports when people begin inevitably transferring, leaving service - or in the case of the scouts, simply dying, so they can monitor and account for keeping branch numbers stable.

"I'll make sure your trunk gets moved, I'll go find that lady officer and get it sorted, and when you're done, you can send for me and I'll get you to where you'll be staying," he says quickly, looking around for Officer Greta. The man stays with you right up until you're standing behind the closed door where some familiar voices can be heard - the low tones of Section Commander Miche, and Erwin, discussing how much he's openly disclosing to the new recruits. The red-head turns and looks at you, lingering for a moment like he wants to say something, but peers deeply at the troubled look that's set deep behind your eyes and frowns a little, before etching on an unconvincing smile.

_Yeah. Horrible time to ask her for a drink._

"Just knock, it'll be fine," he says, turning to leave " - I'll see you in a little bit,".

You quietly thank him, before swallowing a bit - hesitating only a moment - before knocking firmly against the door, voices instantly dropping to a startled silence.

It stretches for just a minute, before you hear Erwin's voice call out.

"Enter,"

* * *

With all of the candles lit to cast light over the piles of papers and books, the office is bathed in a soft, golden glow of light that radiated a sense of warmth. Section Commander Miche is leaned up against the side of the wooden desk that sits in the back of the room, and Commander Erwin Smith is sat behind it, chin nestled over his kneaded fingers, a ghost of a smile on his face as you inch into the room, saluting on entry. For a moment, you feel awkward, because you've clearly interrupted something potentially important - at the very least, a private discussion between two of the most highly ranked members of the regiment. 

"Soldier," Commander Erwin's tone is naturally firm, but tinged with a sort of warmth that comes only from familiarity - as he doesn't bristle or react to your intrusive presence. " - I wasn't expecting your company quite so soon, is everything alright?" he doesn't beat around the bush, he wants to know if something is wrong, and it's now you feel a little silly for your impatience, especially under the combined intensity of the commander and Miche Zacharius, who was looking at you with a raised brow, but remains silent. Commander Erwin's tone tells Miche that the visit isn't unwelcome, but it is unplanned.

"Yes sir, but I'd rather speak to you sooner rather than later, if that's something you have time for but -- ah, I think I'm interrupting," it's in this moment that Miche is struck by something. At first, he thought it might be the choice of soft clothe that you have forever tied around your nose, lips, chin and neck, draping and covering you that rends your voice so soft spoken, but as you walk into the office, hand naturally sat on the buckle of your uniform waist belt, accentuating the feminine sway to your gait that three years of training hadn't beaten out, Miche realises it's just how you talk. Buried under your facemask, you speak in a naturally demure, almost breathy sort of drawl that oozed a certain kind of salacious quality that reminds him of purred out pillow talk. 

Miche feels distinctly uncomfortable, not for any particular reason he can easily identify - when you flick your eyes over to him, silently expressive.

"Sorry sirs," - you certainly seem to have an effect, whether you were conscious of it or not - that radiates a sort of aura that Miche can already tell attracts the sort of people who have opinions on the soft spoken and physically small. No wonder Instructor Ludolf settled his sights on you, personal dislikes aside for the kind of non-subtle arrangement the Wolfgangs had with the military, Miche had a lot of his team graduate from West Division - and had an inkling for the sort of man Ludolf was. He preyed on a cadet every year, though not quite so terribly as to get a reprimand, but the cruelty towards you was unprecedented, and now it clicks as to why. You radiate a sense of demure politeness, a sort of submissive air emphasised delicate, gentle tones that Miche is forced to focus on because he can't see much besides your doe-eyed stare and soft, dark tresses. Everything from your tone, appearance and the body language you had as you shuffled into the room was the exact kind of glass-like delicacy that men like Ludolf adored stepping on purely for the satisfaction of the crunch under their boot.

Miche struggles to picture your thirteen titan kill count, but everybody swears by it, his soldier - Neumann - especially.

"Not at all," Commander Erwin responds to your words when it seems Miche is opting for silence, gears turning behind his eyes, Erwin, typically, doesn't react - because he's used to what you sound like, at least a bit, but glances briefly at Miche when he gets up off of the desk to walk into your space. "Come in," he gestures to the vacant chair across his desk, but watches what the Section Commander does - Miche is one of his friends, and a good judge of character typically, so he's curious to know what's going through his mind in this moment.

"You're the one from Trost that Neumann won't stop talking about," Miche is incredibly blunt in his opening greeting to you, and standing almost as tall as Commander Erwin, he dwarfs you with incredibly little effort. You're not quite sure what to say to the man when he says that, but you don't have to say anything right away, as he suddenly stoops down into your space, bending over to sniff the space around your hair quite obnoxiously.

Visibly confused, even with most of your face hidden from view generally, it's clear in your eyes as you suddenly wonder if perhaps, you have an odour of some sort.

"Hm," he stands back up, leaning away, looking at you with an impossible to decipher expression - admittedly, Miche's sniffing habit was odd, but most of the upper ranks he rubs shoulders with the most are used to it, you, however - are clearly not.

You smell like rose water hair oil, a light wisp of woodsmoke and a touch of acidic alcohol that was faint, not half as present as with men like Pixis, but it's a bit more present than it should be. It's now that another thing clicks for the Section Commander - you're looking up into his eyes, confusion evident, but not shrinking back. By all rights, you seem the kind of girl who should be as timid as they sound, and whilst you do not ooze the silent, thuggish air of confidence men like Levi Ackermann did, there is something quietly graceful and incredibly resilient in your pert stance. 

_Power -_ however buried, it's there. 

"I see why," he says offhandedly, feeling Erwin's curious stare briefly land on him when he says that. "Apparently I owe what was left of my squad to your rerouting titans from the direction of base," - he's seen the report, and truth be told, if you hadn't completed disregarded the Garrison orders from Ian Dietrich, he has it from multiple sources that the casualties would be a lot higher.

"With all due respect sir, without your squad I don't think so much of West Division would have made it at all. I'm just sorry the scout numbers don't quite match up," if it wasn't for so much of Squad Miche in the Battle for Trost making up the highest mortality groups for one on one action against the titans, everything would have undoubtedly been so much worse. You consider your count of thirteen titans to your name to be a drop in the bucket by comparison to their sacrifice, and surprise the Section Commander a bit with how earnest your humbleness is.

"Well," the Section Commander looks briefly to Erwin, and then back at you. "- I think it was a dark day for everybody, soldier. But thank you, regardless. We're glad to have you after all of that," and he hasn't forgotten your words either - what you'd said at allocation, about living for the scouts. He doesn't understand it - why somebody who had a silver spoon in their mouth and the security of Wall Sina to potentially drop out and go home to, would choose the Survey Corps. He doesn't understand a lot of the fundamental facts he has about you - your patronage, your purpose, or how someone with your background manages to excel as much as members of the Special Ops team who are your polar opposite, but he's incredibly thankful, and makes it known.

He's glad that after the horror of Trost, you still threw away your silver spoon for the scouts.

"Quite right," Commander Erwin speaks after a long moment of thoughtfully watching the pair of you interact, which jars you into walking away from the invasive closeness of Miche in favour of sliding into the proffered chair across from Erwin's desk. "Now, as nice as all this is, it's getting quite late and you'll need your sleep - so how can I help you, soldier?" he's straight to the point after the pleasantries between yourself and Miche.

"Sir..." you start with that, and trail off - you should have thought this through really. What where you even going to say, how were you going to open up without sounding so incredibly ridiculous and awkward to your own ears? Do you simply tell him you're anxious about your new, unknown path and get him to tell you more about what being a member of Squad Levi entails? Do you pour out all of those boiling over emotions that Dieter's piercing, childish and yet wholly hurtful words had engraved in your chest? To just _die for your stupid scouts, then._

No, the Commander isn't here for emotions, it's not his job to sort that mess out - you'd have to find your own time to do that, no. You had to talk to him about what comes next - what comes with the territory of defying the wishes of Lord Leon Wolfgang. 

_Oh, God. I'm going to have to tell him everything._

Commander Erwin is patient, quiet but looks at you expectantly with his naturally severe expression from his thick brows drawn into a curious frown.

"We need to discuss what comes next. I'm vaguely aware that the schedule for the special operatives moves faster than everybody else's in the run up to the expedition. So, I'm not sure it can wait," and for the sake of your anxiety, it definitely cannot. Commander Erwin can see the logic, though, and nods once - but looks you over in such a way that you feel yourself tense, seeing him reach a some sort of silent conclusion in his own mind as he does.

"Understood. Miche, I'll have those numbers from you first thing tomorrow, could you please give us the room?" sensing his dismissal, the Section Commander gives Erwin and you a curious look, because Miche could be considered a friend of the man, he knows when to make himself scarce. He had been included on the mission to recruit Levi Ackermann so many years ago, which had been a rather closed-quarters affair as it had involved them going deep into the Underground in order to do so - which spoke volumes of how much Erwin trusted the man, but there is something distinctly different about recruiting _you_ as a special operative. You're not hardened and thuggish, like Levi - you emanate a sense of brittleness and delicacy, and the Commander clearly felt that whatever you had to say was probably easier disclosed with more privacy.

It's at this point that Miche feels like he may be at risk of overstaying his welcome, and as curious as he is, he dismisses himself when it becomes apparent to him that you're a little tense, and may be uncomfortable talking to the commander with somebody present when you clearly did not expect him to be in a meeting with somebody else.

"Of course, have a good night," Miche addresses the room, before nodding once and leaving.

Miche throws a look at you on his way out, and makes a mental note to attempt to bridge whatever gap it is that the Commander had managed to cross with you, if he gets the opportunity.

A brief, stilted silence falls when the door creaks shut and signals Miche's leave, and you feel the casual intensity of the Commander's eyes on you as you try to settle your hands on your knees. Dully, you notice your palms are already quite sweaty as you wipe them discreetly on your trousers. You've had your share of imposing, scary men - and whilst Commander Erwin is certainly imposing, he isn't scary - not to you anyway. There's only ever been one man you'd ever feared, and being frightened by anyone comparatively just didn't stack up - and whilst you did not doubt a man of Erwin's sheer stature and hinted musculature could do some serious damage, you would be very surprised if there was anything cruel about him.

It's as Officer Aiblinger said - the man was a class act, through and through - and unlike the Wolf Lord, he did not possess the frenetic, dangerous energy that brimmed under the surface and threatened to lash out at a moment's notice. Everything about Erwin oozes a sense of calm composure, and while he is likely quite a dangerously capable man, he's more of a sleeping mountain lion, and his rage is not often seen.

"Sir," you try - again, trying to find the words as he looks at you - still ever so patiently. "-I'm frightened about what comes next," - there, you said it.

"Not of being a special operative," you're swift to add, a little uncomfortable at the calculating gaze he levies at you as you try to speak frankly about your feelings. "-though that's - I mean that's something - I'll deal with all that as it comes, erm - Lord-Father's going to receive word long before we move out to - well, wherever we're headed," truth be told, you don't actually know what Squad Levi would be doing, just that they'd be moving quite quickly in the early hours of the morning. Your body is tense, and your language is strained so even with so much of your face shrouded, Commander Erwin can see just how deeply this fear of Lord Wolfgang's reaction dominates your being.

You sucked in a shudder and grimaced behind your mask.

"He's going to be furious," _I know too much._

He senses the muted reaction for what it is, and reclines a little in his chair. Lord Wolfgang's name alone does indeed command a lot of power in a lot of circles, but you, noticeably, do not carry their last name - as their ward you wouldn't, but unlike most adopted children, you do not carry your original last name, it has been scrubbed or lost to record. That itself isn't the most uncommon - there have been a decent smatter of soldiers with surname N/A on their paperwork who likely came from impoverished upbringings, but you being in the very upper echelon through your allegiances - well, it made it quite telling what sort of relationship you might have with the Wolfgang patriarch. Dieter may clearly see you as family and care about you as such, but you're not a Wolfgang.

You're N/A - Not Applicable. Soldier No-name. Varsha Unknown.

Wolfgang is absent in your paperwork, and you carry a deep sort of fear of the patriarch of the family - that itself tells Commander Erwin a lot, but he still doesn't have enough pieces. Every opinion he'd gotten on Lord Leon Wolfgang was along the lines of indomitable, impossible to read, quietly terrifying in the sheer reach he has, but no one dared expressed malcontent with the man - or he was simply known _of_ rather than actually met, with the many whom he'd subtly enquired with when he was in the interior.

"And yet you joined us anyway," Commander Erwin decides to take the conversation in what he hopes is an easier direction - and truth be told, he would like to know what made you decide to join him, though the little public spectacle with young Dieter had been quite telling, he'd still like to know, because he wants to know what's contending with this incredible fear and anxiety you have. "I hope it isn't too forward - but I'd like to know what changed your mind? I expected to have to work a lot harder to gain you among my ranks, though I'm incredibly thankful all the same," he adds smoothly.

"Well," you falter - trying to will yourself to stop sweating because you're starting to feel a little uncomfortable. "It's complicated," you start with that.

Surely the public argument was enough, but then again, you had laid out rather clearly for the man just how scared of the consequences you were, the curiosity makes sense.

_And I should tell him what I can. I'm asking a lot of him, I'm asking him to face Lord-Father -_ you realise, feeling like you had a sort of duty to spill your guts, in this case. You look at the man, who looks and radiates a sense of leadership and power without having to exert any effort - he puts the poster you had to shame, because in his age, he's not only even more pleasing to the eye - if that were possible, he's more thickset muscle and his voice, even when speaking gently to you, oozes a confidence and gravitas that your soft-spoken nature could only envy.

"I meant what I said sir. I want to go where I do the most good, because I never get to do that, not for Lord-Father anyway," you hint, because in truth, broaching the subject is easier said then done, and it's one of the kinds of situations where, the more someone knows, the more danger they're in, but if Commander Erwin doesn't know what he'll have to deal with, how would he withstand the kind of control Lord Wolfgang has. "And I don't have this altruistic need to advance humanity or whatever it is that drives most of the special operatives, but, I am good at killing titans apparently, and I don't want anybody else to get hurt, I don't want to live through another repeat of Trost or Shiganshina if we can help it, so point me - and I'll kill, it's that simple," you breathe, and that - well, Erwin didn't expect that sort of callous statement from your mouth, but there's an edge of a dangerous purr that he catches, however smothered.

_There it is. Either that's training camp or whatever else you had to live through, that's why you're Squad Levi material. Something has already made you into a weapon. I'd like to know what -_ Erwin muses - though he has no business digging as much as he's wanting to, the man is nothing if not curious, and he'd do anything to slake it - as it's how he approaches most things he wants to know.

"The corps were good enough for my daddy. He was at Wall Maria when it was breached, and then transferred to the scouts before the expedition to reclaim it and went right back to that horror. I don't remember him sir, he was hardly ever home, but I remember what he felt like," - it's all just a memory of a feeling now, too much horror filled your memories for anything so happy to have remained unscathed. "I felt safe, and I haven't had the privilege of that feeling since. Even if I let Lord-Father do as he wished and sequestered myself behind Wall Sina away from titans, to do his bidding, I still wouldn't have that, and now Dieter's going to the MPs, it's not like I can protect him anymore either. So, this is my one shot at being my own person," - and God, _I have so much red in my ledger, I would do anything to be good._ "I can't right any of the wrongs I've done, but I can be better. I'll be blunt with you Commander Erwin, Lord-Father is an incredibly dangerous man whose made me do many things I wish I hadn't,".

_The only thing I can do for Commander Erwin is tell the truth, or he won't stand a chance._

Erwin feels himself hold his breath for a moment as you look up from your knees, eyes glistening under the warm candlelight in such a way that he's struck silent, and just nods as you speak, acknowledging your words.

"I'm going to tell you the ugly truth, knowing too much puts you in danger but as you're determined to keep me sir, and I want to be here, not knowing what you're going to have to deal with is equally dangerous," - it's this that startles Erwin internally - _what have you gotten into, recruit?_

He slowly rises from his chair, and moves so that he's standing in front of his desk and leaning on it a little, half-sitting on it with his hands behind him resting on the edges. You've gone a little quiet, like you're trying to steel yourself to keep going, and the commander takes this moment to reassure you, because it looks like you need it.

"It's alright," he looks utterly unperturbed by the fact you seem to think he's in any kind of imminent danger in dealing with Lord Wolfgang. "None of this will leave the room," - because he needs you to continue, but you're now nervously fiddling and looping a lock of your hair with your finger. There was something wholly unsettling about just laying out the truth like this, because as much as it is known fact and an open secret in certain highest echelon circles, it was always an unspoken sort of thing, but articulating to someone on the outside- someone who hadn't been entangled in the dirty little misdeeds of the elites of Wall Sina... 

It felt scary, it's unknown territory - but then again, you've already veered off the reservation with your choice to join the scouts anyway, so it's all in or nothing, and you have to make this work.

"He's old money, he's a mover at that - his business is moving things. People. Problems. If something is inconvenient, he gets rid of it. He makes his money - some of it any way - moving people or illegal substances from different districts, it's why he's the largest shareholder in the Horsefair and Merchant's Guild. It's why he owns half of the businesses in Mitras and is steadily getting a foothold in Stohess - Lord-Father accounts for roughly forty-five percent of the Crown's private funding, and he intends for Dieter to get into the family business as an MP who can make his groundwork easier to facilitate. Dieter barely has a clue - and this will destroy him or make him, but regardless I cannot protect him, not any more," you halt for a moment, throat getting a little hoarse from the heaviness of your exposition.

Whatever Erwin expected to hear - it wasn't that.

"I've spent a very long time sheltering him from the kind of man his father is because I wanted him to have a normal life, because he's a good kid, but I can't protect him from the truth anymore, I can't even - I can't even protect myself sir," you're looking anywhere but the commander now, and swallow thickly - surely he'll think less of you now, knowing what you're involved in. "-My role has always been to look out for Dieter, or facilitate Lord-Father's meetings, find out information - he wanted me in the Garrison so I could run information from wall to wall if he couldn't get authorisation for his security force. I might not be - the most important cog in his machine, but, I owe him everything I have," you said miserably, looking down at your feet.

_Fuck this chair, I barely touch the ground. I must look like such a pathetic child. Trapped up in all this shit. I'm definitely more trouble than I'm worth, kill streak or not._

"I see," Erwin starts with that, his face - unreadable - until you feel a warmth settling on both of your shoulders, jarring you out of your thoughts. The Commander has gently put his hands on you again - the same way he had the last time you'd spoken, it what you supposed was meant to be a comforting gesture - and strangely it was. The man effortlessly made you feel so small, but you felt utterly secure in the way he holds you in place, even if the touch is just a tad sterile in how utterly proper it is - not wanting to breach the unspoken rule of not being overly familiar with a subordinate. "Well, thank you for your frankness and honesty, that must have been difficult for you, but please know that the only thing I will ever ask from you is the truth," _even if it's tough to swallow._

"Yes sir," you breathe, head craned up to look into his casually intense gaze. "I'm choosing to trust you implicitly - I mean - after everything you said tonight, about the numbers, survivability in the scouts, I just thought..." 

"If you could handle that you can probably handle anything," you want him to believe that, more than anything, despite the naturally shady and entirely seedy truth you have disclosed - you've chosen to throw the entirety of your lot in with him. You need to have an even better trust than you'd had with Lord Wolfgang, with Erwin. You needed him to _need you_ badly enough that he'll weather any storm that might come his way and make good on his promise to assist your transition to the scouts in any way that he could. For that, you needed him to believe that you could be trusted, and would always tell him the truth.

"So, that's what you're dealing with sir. I'm sorry if I'm more trouble than I'm worth," you grimace behind your mask and look away from his face, but you hear him inhale sharply - but otherwise ooze that sense of indomitable calm "-I'll understand if you want to retract your offer," you add hastily.

"I'll do no such thing," was the firm response you got, before you felt a light squeeze on both shoulders as the man slowly lets go, and gives you a thoughtful look. "- not when we're on the precipice of accomplishing something great. We need you, soldier - and I think, in light of everything," he trails off.

_She might be perfect, all things considered actually,_ Erwin muses.

"I'm going to tell you something, soldier, and it's not going to leave this room."

You feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as the man levies you with a deeply intense expression, a slow, creeping smile on his features that is seldom ever seen.

_Why do I feel like I've jumped out of one frying pan into a fire?_

* * *

It seems Commander Erwin has his fair share of secrets - and the reasoning for disclosing as much information as he had when he'd put so much private intelligence about the basement in Shiganshina in his opening gambit for recruiting into the corps this year. The gravity of what he's trusting you with hits you in full force as you realise how much of a risk it is that he's taking. You're an unknown, with a low paper trail to speak of and had just disclosed deep, criminal involvement- but he _trusts you -_ and very quickly tells you why. When two test subjects personally wrangled by Squad Hange were brutally slaughtered - something you'd only peripherally paid any mind to - you had been completely off campus at the time, and had been accounted for in the night life district of the local village from the carriage driver and apparently, rumour spread quickly.

You did, after all, have a large, shiny identification card sitting in your jaw, but the idea of the Commander hearing about your more deplorable hobbies was strangely embarrassing. That said, if you'd had the opportunity to fly the coop this evening, just to escape the sensation of feeling like you've just lost the most important thing in your life, you'd have easily done it again, yet, sitting here under the expectant eyes of somebody who clearly thought highly of your skill - it's kind of...

_Mortifying._

"Your rule breaking in this case, excludes you from suspicion at least in that regard, but the bait has been cast, so we'll see what we find," Commander Erwin murmurs "- one more thing to conclude for tonight, how, to earn your unique privileges regarding your patronage, if you're amenable - every so often I'll be expected in the interior, especially now - to secure additional and renewed funding for the scouts in light of the new expeditions and plans I have set for the new recruits. We need it more than ever considering the losses we suffered in Trost, and your _unique_ position in high society may, at the very least, help. You'll also be permitted to return to your patron when we make these excursions, which may go some way into making him a bit happier with the situation," he makes no mention of the initial, shadier purpose to having you serve in the military in the first place.

Perhaps the Commander is operating on a don't ask, don't tell basis - but this seems pretty decent, all things considered, though it might put you in a strange position with the other special operatives, being directly elevated to the side of the commander of the regiment. 

"That could work," you exhale slowly, feeling your face get uncomfortably hot behind the clothe - _he's trusting me a lot, for better or worse - I have to make this work. I have to be worth it._ "I don't know how that'll look to the special operatives but I guess you guys regularly do out of the norm missions, and this is important, so - I'll do my best sir," you secure your fist to your chest in an earnest salute - it's getting late.

"Don't worry about Squad Levi, they'll be made aware as and when necessary, they also understand that the decisions I make are for the good of the corps," he raises a thick brow casually, easily reading into your words "-and they'd be ones to talk, after all, special operatives get special treatment as incentive, as a thank you for their increased risk and sacrifices, if you were to get a hard time about it, I'd opt to remind them of the fact they get more unquestioned leave sanctioned by me than any other elite guard in any other regiment combined," he drawls.

"I think only Dieter would give me a hard time if he knew, especially with the poster and all," the words fall out of your mouth nervously before you can stop it - and instantly you want to slap yourself, because in your hunger to dissolve the seriousness and tension in the room, you'd gone and embarrassed yourself further.

"Hm?" He's got his arms folded over his broad chest, looking down at you with a little confusion, making you cringe a little in your seat.

_Why? Why did I say that? Why can't I keep my shit together? I didn't have this issue with Aiblinger._

"Oh, it's nothing - it's stupid really - " you let out a soft, nervous chuckle in an attempt to write it off "- I used to, ah, so - when Lord-Father was telling me about...my real dad, he - oh, this is embarrassing," because it is, you can feel your neck heating up because you'd truly put your foot in your mouth now. "He used to have this recruitment drive poster of you, from a few years back, I think it was a little after you took over from the twelfth commander and the failed mission to reclaim Wall Maria. He used it to explain why my daddy died - and what he died for. I guess I just - I mean, I just kept it, because I don't - erm - _didn't -_ have anything left from him. I don't even remember what he looks like, so I just... "

_I hoped my daddy was somebody like you._

_Then I got a little crush on you at some point and-- oh Hell._

_I have daddy issues. Can the ground just open up and swallow me whole? He's just - God, what's that look about?_

"I don't know, I just kept it I guess, to remind me why he's not here protecting me, and that he died for a reason that mattered- and- oh - it's silly really," _and wholly inappropriate_ "- I got kind of attached to it I suppose - and I got - well, I used to have a little crush on you I think, for a bit, sir," 

_Oh. Oh no. Why did I say that? Why are words falling out of my stupid face?_

"-but then, I suppose if you know about it, Dieter cant torment me with it once he gets over himself and talks to me again," you chuckle weakly, it seemed that the secret spilling mood had been just a little bit too strong, and you half expected the man to give you a stern talking to about being inappropriate - and cannot bring yourself to look up from your feet.

Until you hear a small snort, and a gentle, deep, rich chuckle from the man that forced you to look up at him, face deeply flush as you do.

"Well, I can't make any promises Squad Levi wont tease you about it if you still have it," there's a hint of teasing in his tone, which is pleasantly jarring as you'd never heard the man sound anything but totally serious, all of the time, and that just makes the knot in your stomach worse. "- but as I said, nothing discussed is leaving this room so," he takes it all so casually into stride that you're overwhelmingly relieved - but still utterly mortified at yourself. "- they won't hear anything from me, and I suppose I should be flattered, those old promotional posters haven't seen daylight in a while," - he did sound just a little, well.... _amused_ rather than irritated or ready to rebuke you on grounds of propriety.

He didn't think he'd ever have himself plastered on a young woman's bedroom wall like some sort of literotica figure, and it's a little jarring to think of Survey Corps propaganda being, well, crush fodder, but he mentally groups it as something relatively innocent, as the word crush has rather pure connotations, all things considered.

_He doesn't need to know he's been -used to be - the subject of the very rare occasional fantasy, when I can't get out of camp..._

"Yeah well," you scratch the back of your neck nervously, looking at your feet again.

_any day now floor, I'm a tasty morsel, please consume me so I can die of embarrassment privately._

"It - it doesn't matter anymore, I mean, I have my father's file now - and that - that's probably the most personal thing of his I'll ever have so, um, I've thanked you before, but it means a lot. I didn't even know - that we had the same colour eyes until I got it. I was going to ask if some of these former section commanders were still alive or if there's anyone who might remember him but... it's getting kind of late," you relent, and were keen to change the subject to something a bit more wholesome and a lot less embarrassing. 

"They'll be time for all of that, soldier. Don't worry, but now that you've mentioned it, I'll put some feelers out. Now go get some rest," 

Commander Erwin is, again, surprisingly kind. He doesn't tease you, doesn't make you feel bad or awkward for your constant verbal diarrhea when it came to trying to bare your soul, nor did he particularly make it seem wrong or somehow a fault of yours that you'd put your foot in your mouth and told him something so completely cringeworthy and humiliating - he even spared your feelings, and said he was _flattered -_ as if a man built like he is, with cheekbones like that and so much power and gravitas to his name would actually find a compliment or crush from someone like you _flattering._ The man really was a class act, and was pretty damn good at lying, you muse.

_I just fucking told him I had a poster of his stupid handsome face and that I used to have a crush on him._

_I think I might be the stupidest person I know -_ you groan internally _\- and this time I can't even blame it on booze!_


	8. Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //// A/N: So the AU divergence here is that Sawney and Bean were killed way earlier along w/ Erwin's "Who is the real enemy?" bit, cos like, before Eren got to the castle with Crew Levi, I wanted Reader ruled out completely from suspicion and I felt like the immediate aftermath of Trost was a more realistic cover for the Sawney and Bean to be murdered sooner rather than later. So, I've fucked the timeline a bit, cos the meeting in the castle is happening post Regiment-choosing as well, but to be fair, I'm not really uhhh focused on that? I'm deadass trying to get to my shippy delight, because I am big simp for Squad Levi but mostly ya boi Erwin Smith Commander Handsome and Lord of that Daddy Dick so.... deal w the inconsistencies I guess. This was/is my AU vanity project where I get to be lazy and not make it water-tight or care about the overall shonen plot because I want mfing LEWD.
> 
> //end rant.

_Chapter Eight_

**Impression**

_\- Former Scout Regiment Headquarters - Hermina Castle - Evening._

The entire Special Ops squad including Eren Yeager are sat at a long table as all of his squad had stayed awake to discuss the dossier. Eventually, you had actually arrived - quite late at that, with Neumann dragging a large, black trunk behind him. Awkward goodbyes were said - where Neumann clearly wanted to say more, and you were blissfully unaware, waving him off and wishing him well before you’d closed the door. You’re as soft spoken as you were in the office, a far cry from how Petra, Eld, Gunther and Oruo remember you. You’re clean, not a speck of blood on you, hair in a loose ponytail and a new, blue cloth around your lower face that has Levi dimly wonder if you ever go a day without one.

Levi Ackermann doesn’t often try to read into the motivations of the commander. The simple reason being that there is an implicit trust there, and that in all the time that Levi has known the man, he has never once failed his team - never once. Sometimes, Commander Erwin’s motivations were difficult to understand, because as a natural habit, he thinks strategically - long term, sometimes so far ahead that Levi cant see the goal. It’s way they often talk strategy together - Levi thinks in the immediate, an expert at adaptation, a master of survivability, and their modes of thinking compliment one another. It does leave him a little stuck, however, when he’s leafing through this dossier in his own time.

He’s trying to see what the goal is, and he thinks he only partially understands. Truth be told, he didn’t have much of a profound opinion on the Hero of Trost. He didn’t need one - he had indisputable facts - both from the clean up operation and the dossier on his knees. Thirteen - likely more, solo and unassisted titan slaughters, advanced omni-directional gear usage, and now? Well, now he had the personnel file - a copy - and notes that were found in Ludolf’s records that he’d pulled out and forgotten to discard.

The new recruit has a penchant for going rogue in situations of extreme stress - demonstrated in Trost, regarding the last instruction issued by Ian Dietrich, and again in field exercises. For the most part, all ODM based exercises you were rated as unashamedly exceptional, even with Ludolf’s begrudgingly complimentary remarks, with a notable incident dated your second year of training.

_Veered wildly off course, disregarded direct orders and self-sabotaged her run time when Meier’s ODM or functional ability in the field failed him. Varsha then retrieved Meier and both finished last in the speed run test as a result. While this did show good teamwork, it also showed a flagrant lack of adherence and questionable priorities._

Now, obviously with Ludolf’s investigation and blunt, excessive cruelty towards you - the malice of which Levi is surprised he can even detect in little offhand comments in your monitoring forms, everything on there has to be taken with the largest grain of salt. However, it does explain the next choice.

_EFP - TRIAL SCHEDULE_

It’s a document of proposed plans for the extremely flexible schedule that had been slid over to him in the event you’d join the Corps. Commander Erwin was not only presumptuous in his ability to try and get you in the ranks, but he’d already made his moves and intentions clear on how he wanted you to integrate into his squad. As yes, however malicious and flawed Ludolf’s remarks in your personnel file may be, both he and Commander Erwin had seen some validity to you refusing orders. The commander had called out to you - and Levi himself had, at one point, though your mental state was clearly not good when they found you, you had ignored them completely at the time.

Captain Levi knows this can be fatal in the field, no matter how good you are - he and Erwin have been doing this longer. He wants you riding support - assist kills only, with a heavy focus on investing in the one other subject you excelled in outside of ODM exercises.

_Emergency first aid - critical care skills._

Now, the closest they had to an on-site first aider is Petra, but Ludolf’s remarks highlight something that the commander clearly zoned in on, as he’s collected more than one statement on the matter once Aiblinger had put in a request for reports from West Division Medical Bay for the conduct investigation.

_Perhaps due to a silver-spoon upbringing and access to higher education, Cadet Varsha exhibits a profound understanding of the human body and excels in all forms of critical care skills. - I. Ludolf_

_Cadet Varsha N/A while in class and as a frequent visitor of the hospital wing has demonstrated a great aptitude for CCS and medical practice. I’ve recommended to I. Ludolf to have her serve 1/4 of all additional reprimand duties as my floor assistant in medical. She continues to be an asset in my services and retains a sharp intuition. - Dr Heinrich Lufthanser._

Commander Erwin is considering trialling something to reduce on-field casualties and get a more developed educational medical program for those that are going on expeditions, but he needs the funding, hence all of his meetings in the interior. As much as they’re an annual necessity, he has more cause than ever, as he’s consistently trying to improve the scouting legion, Levi supposes his grasp of an _EFP SCHEDULE_ could possibly be the start of something that changes the landscape of the regiment in much the way Commander Pixis had when he began selecting those soldiers of sharp mind and good maintenance skills for the Engineer Corps that kept the Garrison’s weapons in good order.

In order to reduce your chances of going rogue in the field, and to integrate you with purpose in the already water-tight and fully functional Squad Levi, Commander Erwin wants you relegated to a supporting role. In fact, he remembers exactly what you’d said to him, and is playing into what you said was most important to you - keeping people alive. What a time for it, Levi muses, because he’s not sure how Erwin found the time to think so far ahead when they’re both so incredibly swept up in the business of Eren Yeager, and all that he represents.

But Erwin Smith is a brilliant man, so naturally, he manages it all.

There's a discussion at the table, which is lit by candlelight as each member of the corps nurses a cup of tea - you're tired, though, having ridden hours with Niklaus until you'd gotten here, and you were quick to wave silently and take a pro-offered seat between Petra and Oruo. Gunther and Eld are discussing the expedition beyond the walls - where freshly graduated newbies are expected to take part - essentially to die en masse, for reasons that were unclear, but that Gunther personally found to be exceptionally grim in light of the fact the cadets already had to endure a titan breach - and says as much.

"I bet those brats were scared out of their wits," Oruo says, quite derisively as he lifts his teacup to his lips.

Petra's about to say something - completely ignoring Oruo, but you surprise the squad when your hand slams down against the wooden table - not tremendously loudly, but loud enough to get everyone's attention, your face turning to face the young man with the light brown undercut. He gives off a sort of unpleasant air, but he's the one with the most kills under his belt besides Levi, you muse, and so you temper this natural sense of offence when you feel Longinus flash before your eyes, and those - Weber included - who stayed standing, even with tears down their cheeks, to join the scouts, even after all of this horror. His blasé nature was easily offensive, so you temper your words the way you would around Dieter whenever he would say something profoundly insensitive in his youth.

You can feel everybody's burning stare, but Oruo is pretending his teacup is the most interesting thing in the room - as if your piercing look was not bothering him - though the tensing of his muscles gives him away.

"But they're still here Mr Oruo. Plenty went home but even more of us stayed, even after all this," you can feel the severity of everybody's looks, and keep your tone soft, and gentle, though there is clearly offense taken. "-And that's just it, sir. Lots of us were - are - scared. I was scared. Lots of us died scared, and none of you were there, so when the Advanced Team was slaughtered, so was our hope. But we stayed. Not a lot of them stayed for the scouts - but the fact that more of us didn't abandon post should speak volumes of my graduating class. I will not abide you mocking their fears, sir," sucking a breathe sharply through your metal teeth.

"I have the greatest of respect for you, but I will not abide that - because quick, successional kills or not. I was scared too, and I cried. I cried a lot, but that's the thing of it," you feel your face heating up now, because the agitation the man had induced quickly fizzled out in favour of shyness when you realise just how many of Squad Levi have gone quiet.

"You can't be brave if you're not scared," you mumble, shrinking a bit in your seat when you realise just how much focus is on you. It hits that you've snapped at someone who is only technically your peer rank but in terms of raw experience and time served, is absolutely a superior, which is something you don't do often - you didn't even snap at Ludolf - but something about his offensive tone regarding how the cadets handled Trost... It brought attention to something inside of you that had been so clearly broken and shattered beyond repair after Longinus's death - and wandering the waste of titans, blood and refuse for almost an entire day and night. The part of your subservience that was hard wired a particular way, to endure anything and everything - at least regarding Trost - had been truly snapped and it showed.

It showed in how the candles lit up a mournful fire in your eyes, and they're all reminded of just how long you'd been wandering the ruins of battle, sans Eren Yeager, who hadn't seen you when the Special Operations crew recovered you and began doing clean-up. 

"Sorry," you say suddenly, piercing the awkward silence that followed, because the air had gone from casual to thick and solemn. "- I - I didn't mean to - snap like that sir," you repress a shudder, and it's clear you're expecting an overly disproportionate reaction, or for Oruo himself to snap at you after he calmly sets his tea down. He does, in fact, look scolded, but is trying to remain visibly cool-headed, and raises a single brow at you which turns quickly into a frown when you attempt to smother your bodily recoil when he sets his cup down - because it's close to you, and you half expect a hand to come flying out at you.

As much as an insensitive clod Oruo Bozad is, he's not thick - and he can tell that you had expected some sort of instinctual, physical retaliation that made him instantly go from feeling irritated and a little humiliated to appropriately awkward and damn near _bad_ feeling.

"Whoa, hey, I'm not that mad Greenhorn," Oruo is visibly frowning - and thankfully, it's Eld who comes to your rescue, and dispels the thick, and now more awkward air that had settled over the table "-Relax a little," - a hint of a break in his overly cool persona shows, if only for a moment, because he's alarmed at the thought that you'd just assume he'd backhand you, because that is _not_ what Captain Levi would do in this scenario, and that's certainly not the kind of air that Oruo wanted to give off, and it concerned him that he just might be - as you're new and have no reason to assume such things.

"You're right about what you said, Rookie," Eld is smiling, though there's a look that he shared with Captain Levi that only Eren and Petra catch, but Eld is quick to smooth the air and return the conversation back to normal. "-so there's no need to apologise. You'll find scouts can get callous about other people's lives because we become that way about our own, but you're allowed to disagree with us, and call us out. Any of us, actually," - it's at this that Petra catches onto Eld's best attempt to make you more comfortable, as it becomes apparent that you're subtly trying to sink into the chair and become part of the brickwork if at all possible.

"Oruo especially - because he's nearly always wrong," Petra says with a sweet smile, earning a derisive and defensive remark that Levi quickly puts a stop to before it devolves into a childish argument. 

"Back to the original point - Commander Erwin's always a few steps ahead, so we should assume he knows what he's doing by making the Trost survivors participate in the expedition, cadets or not," the conversation is quickly steered to Eren Yeager, and how many lives were lost in the attempt to make a route to reclaim Wall Maria.

He talks about how Eren is an unforeseen ray of hope, unprecedented in these times. The conversation turns to his abilities - how hard they are to believe, and what it takes to activate his form, which is apparently self-harm, before Levi curtails the conversation because there really isn't much more Eren can tell everybody, but you take note of it regardless.

It's now that Section Commander Hange comes in, and makes an immediate walk to Eren, essentially clearing out the room when the boy accidentally steps face first into a long, long lecture about titan physiology that is already well-known fact, but littered with excitable footnotes and commentary from the overly-enthused woman, whose voice you vaguely recognised as the distant laughing and conversation from Trost when you were heaving through the ruins in your fugue state, trying to make sense of the presence of the Special Ops squad.

As the room begins to clear out - you quickly grab the people you want to talk to and smooth things with first - Levi being the first.

“I just wanted to apologise - for disregarding direct orders in the field Captain Levi,” he’s jarred out of his thoughts when you quickly jog up to him, drawing the curious stares of the others, who - being nosy and all - are suddenly much slower to disperse despite how off-putting Hange's background chatter is.

“I’m afraid I was in something of a state when you arrived, but I did want to say sorry,” - Levi vaguely remembers telling you to fall back and support, before being completely ignored, before he noticed Oruo catching up and silently letting him take over dealing with you, aiming directly for the 13 metre class you’d landed on and swiping the kill when your blades had shattered, and you had been pulled back with tremendous force before you’d get in the way or get hurt.

He remembered the look on your face, the swearing, distressed tears, crying out in the field of shattered blades and empty gas canisters, and the blood, debris and grime you’d been covered in, flesh under your fingernails.

Neumann accounted for just how long you’d been out there, alone.

Levi supposes he can forgive it, and just raises a brow at you - as though he’s unimpressed by your need to grovel out an apology.

“You were out there a while. Things happen. Don’t waste time over-thinking it and get some sleep tonight, we’re up early tomorrow,” that’s as close as a _welcome to the team_ you’re going to get, but you salute the Captain, before making your rounds to the others. Levi preoccupies himself with his cup of tea before bed, blissfully ignoring the hubbub around him, tuning it out as regular white noise at this point, but watches out of his peripheral vision.

There’s something small and unmistakeably demure about you on the surface, just as in the staff cabin, when you’re not in a duress-induced fugue state, you’re actually polite to a fault, oozing the sort of demeanour that came from being brought up with a governess. It shows, even with three years of hellish training, you still refer to your more seasoned peers with respect, regardless of age.

Eld is smirking a little bit, Gunther is more open about it - along with Petra, because as of late - Oruo has been doing his best to mimic Captain Levi, including his cool demeanour towards you, but fails. It’d be sweet if it wasn’t incredibly irritating, but despite how much older he appears, Oruo is, in fact, just nineteen - and still has some maturing to do, and as much as he looks up to Levi, he is definitely _not_ Levi. You also feel still quite a little bad about snapping at a seasoned member of the Special Ops squad who easily had buckets of expeditionary experience on you, and actually go out of your way to smooth things over with him too - the last thing you need is for people to think you're somehow either better than them, or looking to cause trouble.

Ever since you graduated from training hell, you just wanted to start over, so you try to mend bridges, so at the very least you're afforded that chance with Squad Levi.

“-and I wanted to say thank you Mr Oruo, for pulling me back out there in Trost. I didn’t have any supporting wire and I don’t think I was in my right mind at all,” even through the mask, there’s a sense of soft embarrassment and genuine gratitude. “Ah - I er, oh, this is terribly rude of me sir, but could I -- “

You desperately didn’t want to be perceived as uppity or poorly because your first impression had been - probably quite poor, and you didn’t want them to think you were uppity by going right to bed. You felt like you had some ground to cover, and you quietly ask if you can be forward for a moment. Oruo’s curious, and ultimately not half as good as playing it cool like Levi, and nods once, both hands on his hips as though he’s casually looking down his nose at you - because he figures he can capture Levi’s natural condescension.

This is dashed quite utterly when you abruptly walk into his space. In truth, none of them see it coming, but when it happens, that’s when the smatter of smirks and poorly smothered smiles froth to the surface. You’ve got your arms placed around Oruo’s body, but placed safely above his waist, not squeezing too tightly or forwardly, but Oruo loses any sense of composure he has regardless as your warmth seeps through his uniform and you’re looking up at him from his chest, with a doe-eyed glassy stare.

_Ah - what - ?_

_“_ I’d have been in real trouble back there if you didn’t look out for me Mr Oruo, but you were so quick! It was really something - I have so much to learn from you - everybody,” you hasten to add, because you do - these people are experts, and Oruo Bozad especially - with such a high kill count, bested only by Levi.

Oruo wants to look too cool for all of this, he’s certain Levi would have pushed you away, or demonstrated a lack of patience or tolerance for this exhibition of impropriety, but he’s not Levi.

His default reaction is to flush brightly, arms seized up awkwardly by his sides as his ego absolutely relishes at being so personally thanked. As odd as it feels, his urge to preen wins out, and he flashes a cocky smirk down at you instead, because he doesn’t know how else to process what’s happening.

“If you stick with me, you might even get half as good rookie,” he smirks, ignoring how Petra rolls her eyes beside him. The way you’re looking up to him, chin nestled against his chest - _God she’s smaller than Petra -_ he feels any discomfort and irritation at you from your outburst earlier rapidly melt away as he feels a sense of smug pride and misplaced warmth in his chest. 

Oruo Bozad never gets this sort of attention, not the way he wants it anyway - he wants to be lauded the way Levi is, he wants to be the kind of soldier Levi is, but even with his tremendous solo streak of titan slaughters, he always pales by comparison. He looks down at you and sees somebody he could take under his wing, because Levi is entirely too abrasive for that sort of thing or he’d be a lot closer to the captain himself.

You look up at him the way Oruo has always wanted to be looked at, so he accepts your forwardness, radiating a sense of cockiness as he does.

You sheepishly let go, a short exhale of relief leaving you when you feel his hand patting your shoulder - and a lack of anger or annoyance. The thing is, you’re quite a physical person, and more expressive than people would assume from the overall quiet demeanour and delicate manners you exude. You’d had three years of being crushed under Ludolf’s boot, but the interpersonal interactions you did have - namely Dieter, and now Lotte, and all of those washed up one-night stands had always been so utterly intimate, even if not as many words were said. Even your elbow-brushing with lordly types and those in power had always been of a too intimate sort of nature, and it is, in fact, hard-wired into your very being.

They wish you a goodnight, the fallout with Dieter leaves you emotionally drained to the point of physical weariness, so Eld offers to carry your things, easily lifting the trunk and carrying the guitar case on his back without question.

You want to try and talk to Squad Levi more, but it all just hurts too much right now, because the moment you put your head down on that pillow, when you next wake, you'll be too deeply entrenched in the scouts to turn back and run into your little-big brother's arms.

And that just hurts.

* * *

The pillow is stained with tears, your face hurts, and your sleep isn't as restful as it should be for how tired you are. You rise early, and spend a good portion of time in front of the bathroom mirror, pressing the green scouts cloak to your front. You try a watery smile in the mirror, and see your mouth filled with dull grey that shined silver in the light, causing you to draw your lips shut on instinct. You're trying to draw some sort of positive from this - because there is no room for self-doubt. You made a decision and had to commit to it, your situation with Dieter couldn't be resolved - so you had to take your own advice: not to worry about things you cannot change.

_Ma...dad, I'm not just a soldier. I'm a special operations agent!_

You look over at the file on your bed through the open door, and then fasten the cloak around your neck. It doesn't feel right, though - to be so far away from Dieter, not just being unable to fix the fallout of your last talk but, to be so far apart for an indeterminate period that could be far longer than you'd ever been. Well, you feel an urge to mitigate it - because you have to be able to bare it, so you walk over to your trunk and open it, rooting around for your jewellery box. It's actually a small mahogany music box that Dieter had gotten you for your twelfth birthday, because he never really knew what to buy for girls. It lets out a soft jingle and has a little horse engraved inside of it, and it's stuffed to almost overflow with greys, silvers and opals, not the most expensive but certainly nothing to scoff at, and was easily worth more than most soldiers had ever had the privilege of seeing let alone owning. 

You find a small pair of earrings you're looking for, and smile at the memory.

_"I never know what to get but - you shouldn't feel like you have to cover up so much, you know?" young Dieter slides over the soft, closed palm-sized box into your hands. You had just turned fourteen, Dieter is twelve, but far taller than you, even now. You always think he might turn around and push you away, because he's always been too cool for you ever since he began edging towards his teens, but he never does. "Auntie Hilda is as blind as she is stupid," he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, because he remembers how much his drunken auntie's callous remarks had upset you._

_You pop open the box and see a set of beautiful, small feather-shaped earrings - not the sort that dangle, but sit against your lobes like studs and have painstaking, careful indentations for the detailing._

_"Um - they're mostly tin - mostly, but - well... listen. I'm only gonna say this once, because as your little brother it is my job to tease you and make you miserable, but it's your birthday and I know you've been crying. I know it probably doesn't matter coming from me - but, V?" he watches as you gently put the earrings in, turning to the mirror fitted in the lid of the mahogany jewellery box in your room, an open-mouth grin sneaking into your face as he stands behind you. "You're really pretty."_

_He gets you jewellery that matches the metal teeth you have, and if anything, insists you embrace a gaudy, excessive, silver and grey accessory-laden aesthetic, because he doesn't think you should shy away from who you are._

_"See? Now you match! And look," he grins, playfully nudging your shoulder. "You're sparkly, Auntie Hilda's just wrinkly and jealous. She could never shine half as much."_

_You choke a bit, turning around and squashing yourself against the lanky, awkward preteen and squeezing him tightly. Dieter hugs you back - and you stay like that for a while, because it's not often that he gets to feel like he's the best sibling, but now he finally feels like he's done something right._

Your smile fades as you put the earrings in, because you don't feel quite so brave with your smile as you had come to be when it came to Dieter and those in high society who had become used to what you looked like. Ludolf had also doubled down and made this publically self-conscious feeling worse, because the facial covering - at least prior to the army - was only ever worn when you were going out into town, mingling amongst the common, to avoid being stared at. You don't feel that sort of brave anymore, but a burble of warmth does rise out of you when your fingers ghost over the small pile of differently coloured materials in one of the smaller grouped off sections in your trunk, and pull out a soft, pitch black cloth, and remember when Lotte left this on your pillow - the day you'd asked her why. 

You felt her closeness and effort to bridge the gap between you as you tied it around your mouth, chin and nose. 

_Cover that shit up -_ even though it's years back now, those words are seared into you just as much as _die for your stupid Scouts, then_ is.

It hurts too much, being you hurts - but being the Hero of Trost? Well, you resent the title, heroes do a damn sight better than you'd managed to, but maybe being that is easier than being _Red,_ or _Tin Teeth, Metal Mouth, Scrapyard or V._

Trost girl, Hero girl - it's all somehow easier than just being you - because it's all just fake, it's an impression made of you and made up of a handful of actions and what people saw on the surface that is absent of such imperfections. So you grab your hairbrush and make more of an effort than you'd made in a long time, because you want to look functional, and not just that, but you're tired of the melancholy and ultimately emotionally destroyed visage you kept presenting to the Special Ops squad. You brush out your hair, usually keeping it in a high ponytail to stop its length from impacting your ability to serve. You put a part down the middle and begin twisting the locks at the front until you have two thick braids and pull them back as a sort of crown around your head that join at the back, incidentally keeping the rest of it from getting in your face, falling loosely down your neck and upper back. It's a vaguely more noble style, but it's elegant, and still more on the simple side.

It's been a while since you've gone to that much trouble - once upon a time you'd spend hours doing complicated braided styles before you'd stride into high society's much more illicit _after hours_ parties, where the windows are blacked out, and the invite-only Golden Playhouse theatre becomes home to something a lot less innocuous than musicals or plays. Once upon a time, you'd spend hours in front of your mirror, before looking over the attendance list and finding out just who exactly you needed to be speaking to, being both the eyes and ears of Lord Wolfgang at the cost of your body and your innocence. 

_It used to be so easy. Now I can't feel anything except disgust. I really am the worst._

But, your hair looks good if nothing else, you dispel the thoughts, and begin to head downstairs to one of the most centrally used living rooms.

Today you'd be properly introducing yourself to Eren Yeager before Hange steals him away from gardening duty at HQ, the boy-creature that sealed up the breached wall of Trost, and you would have to leave your doubts behind. There was no time for them. You slide your fathers file into your trunk. When you head downstairs, you can see that Squad Levi is moving out and that Eren Yeager is, in fact, still there - and hasn't even shed his cadet uniform yet, and lacks the cloak you notice. It's now you learn that most cadets don't have their uniforms and it was surprising that you had yours.

Then again, they didn't know about your father's file, or the extra respectful length Commander Erwin had gone to, to have it presented in a Survey Corps cloak so you'd have something tangible to express a sense of apologia for your loss and the fact that loss was done in service to the scouts.

"Ah - we didn't properly - um, meet last night because you got in so late, you're the - the one who cleared out the evac routes," Eren actually recognises you as the Trost Hero - somehow, which confuses you, until it becomes apparent that you'd become quite well-known by description that even with your mouth covered, the very covering itself is a giveaway as to who you are. You look at the boy - he's what, fifteen, or sixteen? One of the young graduates who joined the moment they'd reached joining age, rather than you or Dieter, who had joined when you were older. He's lanky for his age, like Dieter had been, and is already taller than you and Captain Levi.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that some of Squad Levi are observing your interaction, because it radiates an awkward stiltedness as you look up at him silently.

"Titan boy," you murmur, tilting your head a little and then pushing just a bit into his space. You weren't there to see the wall get plugged, and the idea of a person shifting into a titan is not only difficult to picture, but associating it with such a young boy is oddly jarring. It's almost impossible to believe if it wasn't just accepted fact in the ranks with so, so many witnesses. Can he do it at will? Does it hurt? You have to wonder how difficult it was to plug the wall, and if you'd have mindlessly come to strike him down as much as you had so many others as you screamed in the wastelands, losing yourself gradually.

Eren tenses visibly when you call him that, and you wonder if he has any control over it at all, and how he came to be this way - truth is, you and Commander Erwin never discussed it, but you may just bring it up the next time you're alone just to gauge the mans thoughts. All you do know, is that he is placing a lot of faith in what is in the Yeager basement, and that he sees Eren is a tremendous asset - but that's all you know regarding that.

Cogs turn behind your eyes, before you settle your fist over your heart, and slam it to your chest.

You'd been in the ruins of Trost far longer than anybody else.

The devastation and carnage is damn near unfathomable, and yet it could have been so much worse.

Eren's green eyes widen with confusion until you see redness creeping up awkwardly on his face as you incline your head at him - all of Squad Levi were regarding him with the appropriate amount of trepidation, so he doesn't expect what comes next.

"Thank you for what you did, I was in the ruins of Trost for a very long time after everybody evacuated. I have no doubt I, and more people, would be dead if you didn't reclaim the wall. I have no idea how hard that must have been - I didn't even see it - but, the Commander swears by what you've done for humanity. So, thank you Yeager," he's a peer - and he's younger, so you call him by his last name, but do not lack any respect. "I mean it. I hope we get to work well together, with any luck it wont be the last wall we reclaim," - which gets you an unsure, but bright-eyes smile.

"I don't know - I don't know how easy that'll be, I'm going to give it my all, everything I have, I promise," Eren swears, and salutes you back, he's nervous because he doesn't fully understand his powers, but so many people are believing in him, he can feel it purely from the weight of your stormy-eyed stare.

The air is much too serious, so you pull back, and tilt your head - being as expressive as someone who hides so much of their face can be - giving him a reassuring wink.

"You'd better, Yeager - you've gone and earned my faith - you'll break my heart if you give anything less than your best," - you're surprisingly playful, even with such a low, gentle delivery - because you hear Eld chuckling, followed swiftly by Petra and Gunther because Eren has turned such a noticeably different colour hat he's gone red from forehead to neck. The truth of it is, it's Commander Erwin whose earned your faith - so far anyway - and you're choosing to put your stock behind the man's unwavering belief that this young boy presents a possibility for humanity to gain an edge, but, kindness is free - and perhaps Eren Yeager needed to hear something nice.

He did, after all, do quite a lot.

"You're making the poor brat blush," Oruo comes up and jostles you into action, mercifully sparing Eren but not without loudly and smarmily referencing his blushing to all those in the vicinity in typically inconsiderate fashion, but he puts an arm around you easily and chats idly about where you'd all be headed - filling you in on what you'd missed as you'd gone to bed while they'd all stayed up talking. 

"It's a practice run - to see if we can get as far as Shiganshina and back," - Oruo says - and you ride close when you all mount your horses and begin the dummy run. It's actually quite a beautiful day for it, all things considered. The sun is bright, and the practice run is so lowkey that there's no crowd or much commotion as you leave as early as possible. 

It's now that you're all getting the formation drilled into your heads - as Commander Erwin has developed a long-range scouting technique and a specific layout for maximising safety in the effort to make sure that the live run expedition to Shiganshina go successfully. Petra is standing over Yeager as all of you come to a stop in a nice, empty grassy knoll to look over the formation diagram.

Levi has already memorised everything, typically, and is off to the side, idly petting the nose of his horse, whilst Oruo tries to maintain a similar position, back to the group that's squat on the ground, pouring over the paperwork as though he's just a little too cool for it. Eld Gin, the second in command however, is content to sit on his knees and talk logistics with Gunther while Eren pays rapt attention.

You dismount, and walk over to Oruo - it's pretty obvious he's trying to look a bit too cool for the situation - you can recognise the behaviour because it was something Dieter had a phase of doing, but nonetheless, you invade his space just a bit, and look up at him almost expectantly, holding out a water bottle and offering to share it. 

Levi looks out of the corner of his eye, and notes how Oruo seems to - well, not quite deflate, but breaks his bored, disinterested mask and take it. He's not blind, he knows Oruo, for better or worse, looks up to him to the point of being an annoying little copycat, but it seemed so childish and benign that he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed by it or even address it - because he'll grow out of it, he assumes. 

That might happen sooner than he thinks, because your presence seems to force a different behaviour from the young man, and if Levi was of a softer constitution, he might even find it a little bit sweet.

The rest of the group reference a question that the Commander apparently asked Yeager, one that you weren't present for - back when there was an investigation on the murder of the titan test subjects Sawney and Bean.

It's about _who the enemy really is -_ something you and Commander Erwin had ended up discussing surprisingly candidly, and at length, so you're visibly tense when it seems none of Squad Levi know the Commanders true intentions.

_I didn't think being a special op would mean I have to lie to my own team,_ you muse, but keep your mouth shut - Oruo looks like he wants to say something, and begins with a typically too-cool statement about not understanding the man's intentions, and likely about to lead with it not being their job to, but he's swiftly cut off by Gunther, who disregards him utterly.

"It's possible that there's another goal to this operation, but the commander has decided that it doesn't need to be explained to soldiers. Have a little faith though," he looks at Eren, and then over at you when he says this, but you just nod, and give Oruo a sympathetic sort of smile, even though he cant see it.

He's probably a little embarrassed, so you distract him by embarrassing yourself instead - it's the oldest trick in the book, and you'd done it for Dieter, and nobles, many a time, but Oruo is probably a nice person - you reason - he did after all, go out of his way to explain to you what was happening that morning, figuring (without being told) that you likely had no idea what was going on.

"Aw, Hells. Ah, M-Mr Oruo?" you're definitely acting just a little, because you're used to being that sort of way - men like to feel useful after all, and do your best to break through his churlish expression. You even tug a little bit on his sleeve to get him to look at you, before gesturing to your horse. 

Without the little footstool you'd commandeered back at the camp, getting back on this particular steed was a bit of a job - Ludolf had always taken a petty sort of joy in giving you the worst kind of saddle and a horse that was almost comedically a poor fit for you, to see if you could, quote _hack it_ \- because you're a _runt -_ and most short cadets were just given the appropriate saddle and a horse that was a little easier to get on with, but this one had been the last one in the stable.

"Can you - ah, can you help me onto my horse please? The really big one was the only one left," you could get on it of course - if you jumped, and just heaved yourself over, but you wanted to distract the man, and make him feel useful. 

He gives you an amused smirk in response.

"Do your little feet even reach the saddle flaps?" a light teasing in his tone before he walks you to your horse, silently agreeing despite his, quite frankly, somewhat rude tone. 

"Ludolf used to just make me jump and struggle instead of let me use a short rider saddle," you mumble glumly.

At the mention of Ludolf, Oruo looks like he's been hit - for all of moment, and goes quiet - everyone does, except Yeager who looks a bit confused.

_Oh, they know._

"Lucky you've got us then," Oruo finds his voice, and easily helps you up onto your horse, allowing you to step on his hands to do so, again, breaking this awful pattern of attempting to mimic Captain Levi - even if it's just for a moment - the old Oruo is still in there, it's just been a short bit since the others have seen it.

"We can't guarantee you'll always have a suitably sized horse but I can make sure you get your own short-rider saddle," Eld rides up next to you and gives you a sympathetic look.

"Thanks you two," turning to them both "-you're the best!"

Eld smiles, Oruo visibly preens, and it's Petra who groans - loudly - while Gunther scoffs and Levi simply ignores it all.

"Don't say that, their heads won't fit through the doorway!"

"Sorry Miss Petra!"

Eren cannot help it, he laughs - and finally feels like he's not the only one who has to work to fit in.

* * *

Maybe it's the anticipation, or the fact you were given a new cloak so soon after you'd gotten used to wearing what your father would have worn. You saw the new intake of scouts proudly sport their new attire when Section Commander Ness brings out the order of new uniforms, and Yeager stands among his year mates, but you're pulled aside by Levi and given something utterly different, and get thrown for a loop once more.

"I don't need a new uniform," you frown, visibly confused when you see something that sticks out in the pile of spare cloaks as a bright, distinctly _non green_ colour.

"Commander Erwin's trying something new with you," Levi says simply "-higher visibility is key," he adds, when you pull the cloak out and see that it's actually red, a brighter red than your own muted borderline muddy brown one that you would don before stowing away into the night, seeking a means to plug all of your more dangerous predilections and habits. It's about the same quality as all of the other military issue gear and cloaks, and feels texturally the same when you touch it, but it feels like it's a custom order of some sort still, and you're standing there feeling more than a little perplexed.

All you can think of is how you feel like your identity as _Red_ is dying, or dead - or at the very least forcibly moulded into this reluctant _Hero of Trost_ visage that had been thrust upon you, and that you might just have to reconsider your nightly bad behaviour, because the ability to fade into the background was becoming harder and harder to achieve. Everybody knew who you were, you were physically easy to identify because of all the things about you that set you apart, either the metal teeth or the choice to cover them in the first place - Hell - it had already gotten back to the commander than you cruised in questionable dive bars to sate your bad habits, which had been your fucking _alibi_ for the damned murder of the titan test subjects, Sawney and Bean.

_This is who I am now, I guess._

"This is so people know they can come to you for help if they need it, it's better when we're riding in such a large formation. Commander Erwin wants to trial having EFPs in every expedition to reduce the amount of casualties on field. We've reviewed the notes - and you come highly recommended from training base's doctor," he narrows his eyes a bit and skips right to the point, not one for pointless pomp and compliments for no reason, because you still seem bewildered, and don't even know what he means by the acronym. 

"That's an Emergency Field Physician, for when standard soldier's aid isn't enough, know what that means brat?" he says, his tone quite sharp now. "- It means no riding head first into trouble without support if you can help it. Your job is to keep people alive to the best of your ability, because it's the other thing you're good at. It does, however, also mean that out of everybody in the crew, you have the most permission to break formation to go and assist where needed but do _**not**_ break from the formation unless absolutely necessary. Commander Erwin - for better or worse, seems to trust you a lot," Levi says, clearly unable to make sense of it himself, but choosing to accept it regardless. "-but staying with the original plan is best, he stated as much to me," - he cannot fathom why you're given as much carte blanche as you are, thirteen kills or not.

But you know more than Levi does, in terms of the true nature of this expedition.

"You have my word sir," you say, saluting him before he turns away. 

It's this conversation that brings you to the Commanders room, because he's ridden to the old Survey Corps base after tying up some business and recruitment loose ends from the fresh intake, riding to the castle whilst you and Squad Levi had done a quick little dummy run ride on horseback and learned where your roles would be in the long distance formation. He absolutely planned to lead the charge, as he always had, and is one of the most hands-on commanders to date, in any regiment, barring the twelfth scout commander. He is an icon as much as anything else, and he needs to be seen at the helm, now more than ever, because he could never ask soldiers to die for his dream for humanity if he wasn't prepared to make that sacrifice himself.

He's there because he's the best at what he does, and it makes him worlds apart from Lord Wolfgang, maybe that's why your hands always began to sweat in his company. Even now, with Commander Erwin just sat in plain clothes, a buttoned up white shirt and dark trousers, penning over some expense reports that would be waiting for him when they begin the 57th expedition beyond the walls in thirty days.

That's thirty days for you to brush up on your medical knowledge to boot, though it could be considered beyond average for most trained soldiers - but you spent a lot of your life around one of the sharpest medical minds the world had to offer, Head Doctor Hamish of the Einrich Institute for Medical Science - the day you finally received the ability to speak, and had metal welded into where your teeth should be was the day you became intimately familiar with this sort of thing, it's something the training camp doctor picked up on also, and had been keen to build on.

You're a unique blend of things, because Lord Wolfgang needed you to be everything whenever he needed you. 

You were expendable, yet valuable, a contradiction wrapped in chaos, constantly yearning for a purpose beyond never fitting in with the crowd that Lord Wolfgang demanded you entrench yourself in for the sake of his more illicit exploits. Even if the red cloak is different, you cannot help but wonder if your father would be proud of you all the same, and stand nervously in the doorway of the commander's room until he beckons you in. Naturally, you close the door behind you, frowning a bit to yourself when you feel the intimacy of it intensify from the sheer fact he's using his bedroom as a secondary office - and even though he's sat at a desk away from his bed, and doesn't seem remotely bothered by your intrusion, you do feel more than a little awkward.

"I'm going to be an Emergency Field Physician sir?" 

He looks up from his paperwork and gestures to a spare chair in the room for you to pull up to his desk, which you do so, feeling nervous as you do. You've put back the green cloak and wrapped your father's file back in it with a reverence, placing it under your bed and staring at your reflection, and feeling yourself lose another piece of what amalgamated into you as a person. Chaotic, desperate, wholly imperfect and dreadful _you -_ who probably didn't deserve this second chance at all, and definitely did not deserve an accolade like hero.

_But if that's what it takes for people to believe in something, and most importantly, not die, who am I to tell them no?_

There's a reason you said what you'd said at allocation.

_I want people to have what I don't._

The will to live, and keep going, no matter the cost - so just ...

_Even if I can't stand it. Fake it until you make it._

You look into the inscrutable blue lagoon eyes of the commander, feeling your heart betray you when it jumps in your chest and reminds you that your flitting childish infatuation with what the man looked like had not, in fact, died, but had increased twofold now that you were actually in his company, and reported directly to him, yearning for a better relationship than what you'd had with Lord Wolfgang.

"You said you wanted to everybody to live, at all costs - with your specialities, it'd be remiss of me not to maximise use of you, not just in your propensity for killing titans, but in my role as commander, I'm constantly looking for any way to reduce casualties in the field," he says simply, as if that explained everything - and - well, it does, but you slump a little in the chair, letting out a small exhale behind the black cloth around your face, knees nervously rubbing against each other. You did your best to temper and smother your reaction, as you were often quite adept at manipulating how you'd be received by others, changing your body language consciously - but when it came to legitimate crushes or infatuations, you were always quite terrible at it.

"You have a unique set of skills we didn't get to go over last discussion," he says, laying his hands flat against his desk as he states this, letting you know that you have all of his attentions and nothing less.

"I wont let you down sir," it's a big responsibility though - you're very aware how many scouts die on their first mission, and you could very well be one of them, you said as much at allocation.

"I was meaning to ask - and this is just academic curiosity soldier, please do not feel an obligation to answer if you're uncomfortable," regardless of the fact he's your commander, he knows that this is probably not making much of an impact on whether you feel like you have to answer, he says it because he means it, and kneads his fingers together on the flat wood. "-but why _are_ you so adept with the medical aspect of things? I understand you've served a great amount of your official reprimands as a medical assistant on base, but your glowing recommendation is... well, it's quite specific regarding your proficiencies being more than what's covered in the soldier's curriculum and what you'll have covered merely assisting training injuries," - and Commander Erwin's defining trait is his curiosity, it drives him, it's the burden on his back and it's the ghost that possesses him when it comes to why he does anything that he does. He yearns for humanity's victory but that comes on the hooves of him living to truly expand beyond the Walls.

You flush when it hits you that this is faintly a personal curiosity that the man has about you.

"Sir, I..." you trail off, and nervously pick at the black cloth on your face, looking off to the side - exuding the soft, unsureness that has Erwin casually tempering his naturally forceful tones, because the man knows how to work people - he's an orator as well as a warrior, and he knows exactly what sort of approach he needs to have towards you, he thinks - because he's been thinking about it a _lot._

Commander Erwin has some big goals in the thirty day run up to the 57th expedition - of which he feels you could be integral.

"When I had my - " 

_Blood. Cobblestone in your mouth, a foot pressed on the back of you head as you feel an overwhelming blunt force trauma to the back of it. It's a miracle you don't die, but you pass out from pain on the spot, feeling your teeth roll out of your gums as your mouth weeps with blood, and all you taste is copper before you pass out and surrender to darkness._

"Incident where I - I lost all - most - of my teeth, I -- when I was taken as a ward by my Lord-Father, he was sick of Dieter's complaining and that we couldn't communicate well, so - he got a doctor - the head doctor actually. Doctor Frederick Hamish from the Einrich Institute for Medical Science - he did uh," you falter, struggling to find the words, eyes a bit distant as you cannot quite look Erwin in the face.

You weren't even good about talking about your past to Dieter, let alone anybody else - but you needed Erwin to trust you even better and more wholesale than Leon Wolfgang ever had. You needed to be needed - and for the commander to want to keep you at all costs in he face of that man, so you'd have to disclose whatever he wanted. 

You didn't want to tell him no.

"-he fixed me sir, he did - this," you gesture to your mask and cringe a bit, hating how meek you sounded in the company of this man, wishing you could summon up the fire you had when you had managed to snap at Oruo back when you'd first gotten to the castle. You ignore the uncomfortable memory of it - when you first had to deal with Dr Hamish - and what he had to do to get your mouth fixed. 

_Copper taste. Blood. Fingers pulling your mouth open before something metallic is forced to keep it open. You remember what Hamish says - his coal black eyes looking down at you as he smiles thinly through his beard and moustache, brandishing a long, slender injection in his hand as he moves your head before strapping you firmly with as much belt and rope as could be found._

_"You're going to feel a sharp pinch, small one - and then it'll all be over soon."_

_It was morphine, directly into you neck, but it's not enough. None of it was enough, and your screams bleached the walls of Wolfgang Manor until you lost your voice completely, and did not speak for several weeks._

_The pain was seemingly unending..._

"And I had all of my follow ups with him since - as it was the first - probably to date - procedure of its kind, and I suppose I ended up spending a lot of my formative years either in noble company or in the company of very well researched physicians. I would suppose that's how it rubbed off on me - and I had access to Dieter's governess and a good home education, so I could zero in on my interests. For all of my Lord-Father's faults, he never deprived me of that sir," you admit, nervously tangling your fingers together as a silence lapses, until you hear a quiet, thoughtful hum leave the man.

"I - I can probably put you in contact with Doctor Hamish if this EFP program is something you need any help with sir - I understand I'm a trial run but I have some resources," you rush out quickly - which earns an appreciative look from the blond that makes your insides suddenly feel like they're melting in your stomach. "I - I've been writing to him regularly sir, always have, as part of my health plan," you add.

A direct line with one of the heads of medical research in the world is nothing to scoff at.

"I may take you up on that," already you're proving your worth - you're the gift that keeps on giving, the asset he suspected could help him in a more formal sense and you're already proving him correct. He's apprehensive about being too excited about the possibilities however, because he wants to see how much you're willing to give before he pushes his luck and asks for it.

Commander Erwin is at heart, a good man, but he'll throw this moral compass askew if it means getting to his ultimate goal, and so, for better or worse, he pushes just a bit.

"Could I perhaps see this handiwork of Doctor Hamish? I don't fault the man's credentials at all but - " he leans back, pushing his chair our from his desk just a bit with a light scraping sound. "- I'm quite curious, I will admit. Your file is a bit scarce on the details outside of normal health check ups and injury assessments after your rather awful time under your instructor," he wants to remind you again that, you are at liberty to simply refuse him.

He wants to, but - well - he has a sort of plan in motion already, and gestures to the front of his desk, where his body was just pushed up against to go through paperwork.

"I'd like to take a good look at you soldier, if that's alright with you of course," - and he has set out a loose reasoning at least, outside of plain curiosity, he'd like to see the handiwork of the man he may just contact about his EFP proposal, but it's definitely just the commander succumbing to his very human need to slake his curious whims, and to get answers he doesn't necessarily deserve to have.

Time feels like it stands still for a moment, as you look at Erwin a little incredulously, before you're suddenly unseasonably warm in your clothes, and feel your breathing quicken a bit out of anxiousness.

"Oh, erm, are - are you quite sure sir? I'm actually rather unsightly - " you blather out quickly, Ludolf's words and so, so many other cruel remarks violently resurfacing in your mind before you can stop it. 

"I'm sure it's not quite so terrible, but I wouldn't dare ask you to do something that makes you personally uncomfortable if it can be helped. Please - accept my apologies, I haven't the right, it isn't pertinent to your duties," he adds, because the plan he has in motion - or at least, had been mulling over almost narcissistically is feeling a bit more like a fantasy than something actionable, but he wants unshakeable devotion from you, and doesn't care how he gets it. Yes, he'd given you a chance to turn over a new leaf, but he's still going to be sharing you with Lord Wolfgang, and frankly, Erwin Smith wants to know where your heart lies - with the scouts, or with the Wolfgangs - if it really, _truly_ came down to it.

"Oh! Oh sir - no it's not - sorry. I don't mind - it's more, everybody else does - and I... I'm not quite good with the staring, you see," you flush, and walk over to him nervously, wiping your hands a bit on your legs as you do so. It seems he wants you in front of his desk, while he remains seated, and not across from his desk opposite him - like you were when you came in. You thought about dragging the chair around and sitting next to him, but you're short enough that you can just stand - lean down if you have to - and he can take a proper look. 

"I can assure you though, Doctor Hamish is quite good, without him I wouldn't even be speaking, let alone saying consonants," you add, before apprehensively tugging down the black cloth until its all the way down your chin and sitting in a bunched up pile around your collarbone. On instinct, you have the urge to tilt your head forward and attempt to hide behind the dark locks of hair that weren't held back by the neat crown of braids but realise it wont quite shield you when it's styled in that sort of half-up, half-down style and can only feel a sense of great anxiety as you feel the mans absolutely piercing and analytical stare.

God, it felt like he was getting right under your skin, and instinctively you felt a little weak in your knees, and so prop you backside up on the end of his desk without outright sitting on it, until he leans forward suddenly, reaching around you without touching you to move some inkwells, as if to silently say that you could sit on his desk, allowing you to nervously shuffle backwards until your backside was firmly on top of it, and you feel your legs dangle over the edge, barely touching the ground when you tilt your tiptoes down.

_Oh, she's quite attractive - that'll make this easier,_ Erwin muses, as he scrapes his chair forwards so he's quite close to your knees and legs, and you're now ever so conscious as to not playfully swing them as you so often did when you didn't quite reach the floor.

Admittedly, his thought path does make him feel a bit like a bastard, however important his ultimate goal is, he prefers not to go for such underhanded methods.

_Any will do, though - if necessary._

"May I?" his voice that absolutely smooth, velvety sort of richness that leaves you dumbfounded and lost for words when it's directed at you like that, so low and so delicately, as if he's asking for something quite bad. You're not quite sure what you're consenting to, but in this sort of moment, you don't think that you particularly _care -_ because it's probably better than baring your teeth at him like some sort of animal. 

" _Yes_ ," wincing a little when it comes out breathily in a way that betrays your physical attraction to the man just as much as your sweating palms and visible flushes.

Your heart stops completely in your chest when you feel his large, all-encompassing hands close quite intimately around both of your cheeks, pressing your face gently to look down into his eyes as that analytical sapphire gaze rakes all over every inch of your flesh with a new sort of curiosity and almost critical sort of way that made you feel terribly naked despite being in your full uniform regalia and cloak. Eyes going rather wide, you feel a soft sort of gasp leave the bottom of your throat, like it had come right from your diaphragm when you feel the brush of his right thumb against your lower lip.

_Oh shit - what --!_

That was damned intimate, no matter how clinical the curiosity was, your mind has turned into a complete blank slate, because your face feels like it's on fire, exuding a warmth that is radiating directly into Erwin's long, slender fingers even if it doesn't show up quite so obviously as it would on most. Naturally though, as though remembering what the initial purpose of this was, you feel your mouth drop open slightly with a gentle - somewhat gormless numbness as you sat there barely able to compute the situation for what it is.

Now, Erwin Smith is a morally upstanding sort, generally speaking when it comes to his day to day demeanour - and he would never, _ever_ exploit a subordinate, but you being a Special Ops member now makes it at the very least, a little more acceptable, but he still feels something of a bastard for what he's about to do - because he will play every card he's dealt to get what he wants.

And unwittingly, you'd given him one.

_And I need her loyalty above anybody else she's loyal to._

Erwin looks at the silver-grey alloy that sits in your mouth, two absolutely perfect bars of metal that sit at the exact sort of height teeth would be at, but there isn't a single indentation to even try to make them look like teeth. He furrows his brow a bit - mostly in thought, rather than any distaste, eyes flickering over briefly to the similarly coloured feather-shaped studs that - strangely, the matching nature fit quite nicely. He wonders, briefly, if you have any difficulty eating, and his thumb slid over that - admittedly full, somewhat soft lower lip until it naturally, and quite daringly pushed against the flat of the lower row - not quite fully inside, but intimate enough that a strangled noise leaves you.

It's not a bad noise, though - Erwin muses, studying your face as he slides his thumb up and over until it's rubbing lightly over the tops of the bars, gliding across to get a feel for how sharp they are - if at all. He's surprised to find they're decently smooth, so you probably have to bite with some force, but surprisingly, he doesn't seem to find it off-putting. If those lips weren't distracting enough, the metalwork really isn't so bad regardless - he thinks, though he does peer in to see if the metal melds into your gums and - shockingly it does, and he's not quite certain how, but you must have gone through an extraordinary amount of pain to have this sort of thing welded into your jaw. It's perfectly done, though, there's no swelling in your cheeks, nothing amiss - Hells - if you kept your mask off and mouth closed, he'd never have known, he thinks. 

You can taste his thumb in your mouth and know for a fact your stomach is in knots now, tasting the clean flesh for what it was - just skin and - oh, faint traces of ink, from writing no doubt, but not enough to be unpleasant as Commander Erwin examined your mouth, gently tilting your head from side to side to get better looks under different lighting, working your face like he'd been doing it his entire life.

"Ah--- _ah hah - C-Commander--!"_ it comes out like a half-drooled squeak as you squirm on the desk visibly, your open mouth - and his thumb - making it difficult to speak, causing it to come out a little malformed as saliva built up in the base of your throat and around your tongue from the energy of trying to speak without brushing his invasive presence.

_If you were a little more daring you'd have sucked on it._

You feel like you have to say something because the silence has gone on too long, and you feel so fucking exposed sitting like this, having this man - a damn near stranger - rooting around your mouth like this. Even your one night stands tended to bend you over just so they wouldn't have to look directly at it, but Commander Erwin seemed as though he wanted to do nothing _but_ look at the unsightly procedure.

_"T-this is - 'mbarrassing,"_ the statement comes out a little stretched as the last syllable is almost like a mixture of a whine and a slip of a moan, as you try to avoid brushing your tongue against his thumb as it gets to the very back of your teeth, but you can't help it, and it ends up brushing the underside of his thumb when he goes to retract it, but it's now that he can see how blown out your stare is. You're more than a little breathless too - and he can see you're rubbing your knees against one another a bit more fervently, thighs moving and shifting on his desk in what he thought was some anxious discomfort, but is very apparently something _else -_ which is exactly what Erwin's going for, but he cannot help but take one look at you and feel just a little exploitative.

You're much too desperate for his help, and he's much too old for someone quite so spritely to be looking at him like _that_ \- the poster he could understand. He was younger, more handsome - he thinks, back then, and the artists were certainly complimentary to his posture and his cheekbones. 

"That wasn't my intention," his tone is naturally reassuring, as though his hand didn't just _mouth fuck_ you until you squirmed and turned into a heady, blushing mess on his desk. "-but thank you for your... candidness, Doctor Hamish does impressive work," he glances up into your eyes, a little smirk tugging his lips.

"If you can keep forgiving my forwardness, it really isn't quite so bad as you think, Recruit," his thumb pulls out slowly and embarrassingly, there's a dirty bridge of saliva that encases his the digit in a translucent shine as he brushes back purposefully, yet wholly unnecessarily against your lower lip again, like he's caressing it almost.

_Is he... is he flirting with me?_

_A man like him?_

"Oh-oh-- oh kay, that's okay - you don't have to - say - err - do that - I'm.. quite aware of what most people say about me and what I look like," you murmur breathily, only for the commander to retract his thumb slowly, revealing an absolutely salacious and embarrassing bridge of saliva that snapped from your lower lip in a manner that was positively _dirty_ and had your cheeks flaming so much you were trying to stare holes in your own knees at this point once he finally lets your face go. Commander Erwin - flirting or not - is being a nice person, you think, just the way Conrad tried to be sympathetic about your mouth rather than recoil on sight, but Erwin is frowning.

He isn't lying.

"I'm not most people, recruit," that reassuring smile on his features once more. "-you'll find Squad Levi aren't quite so judgemental either, but I'd hope you can come to me if there's anything I can do to make you more," he pauses for a moment, his eyes flicker meaningfully from your lips, to your eyes, before he settles back to an unreadable look.

"Comfortable," he drawls.

He almost pushes his luck. He almost asks _the question_ \- but he suspects he knows the answer, if your physical reaction around him is any indicator.

But then his door knocks loudly, and all intimacy as dashed as you quickly scarper off his desk, leaving in a flurry of redness - your cloak practically brushing his face as Hange Zoe swings his door open, blissfully unaware of the moment she's interrupted.

_It seems you still have that little crush, Recruit._

_And any method will do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //// A/N: Also, the Oruo-Reader in this? Yeah it's Senpai-Kouhai because you KNOW Oruo is That Bitch - you know he's one of those MFs who would preen for 80 years if they had a kouhai and he secretly wants to be somebody else's Levi, yknow? I have a weak spot for this bastard, because deep down aren't we all a little bit like him? Wanting to be like people we idolise even if it's cringy asf lmaooo I love his clown ass. Anyway review if you liked. I put a lot of time into this one actually. ////


	9. Day One - Renewal

_Chapter Nine_

Day One

**\- Renewal -**

The walls of the castle are long and cavernous, littered with occasional statues of knights who once roamed the lands in a forgotten sort of time that’s relegated to storybooks. It can get cold and dank with ease, and when dusk slowly begins to settle, it feels as though the entire building is inhaling, and making every room that much smaller when light begins to disappear from areas where the changing hues of the darkening sky do not blare through decorative glass windows. Your room is in the easternmost area of the castle, with Petra directly across from you. There’s a direct stairway down to the basement not too far from there, and truth be told, the castle is so expansive that most of the Special Ops squad are still staying quite closely, even Levi, who chose not to be too far from Yeager at any given time.

You had thirty days to become confident in your place in the Special Ops, assuming Lord Wolfgang didn’t rain Hell and attempt to remove you from service. Everything feels calm, and yet has an undercurrent of smothered frenzy, you think - or maybe it’s just you, because you’re still walking and talking with the Dieter shaped ache in your chest, but it really does feel like living in the eye of a storm, surrounded by deceptive calm and sharp electric energy in the air that threatens to sweep you away from the first independent choice you’d felt you’d ever truly made.

The choice to be here in the first place.

You seem to blend in well enough - it is part of the kind of person you were crafted to be - to fall into lock step with whatever crowd you needed to be in. When you did it at your Lord-Father’s events, or other high society mixers, it was more of a superficial social lubricant more than anything, and in truth, you felt three years rusty. Everyone is nice enough, though - they know it’s an awkward transition - after Ludolf and everything, you’re trying to find where feels natural. It’s why Oruo Bozad is being used to paper over the Dieter shaped ache in your chest. You were surprised to find out he’s only nineteen, but it explains a lot - and he still has a precious lack of maturity about him that he tries to hide by mimicking Captain Levi - and it reminds you so much of how Dieter used to be, in that period of his life where he’d tried to imitate Lord-Father’s cooler mannerisms.

Oruo reminds you of a Dieter from another time, and so for better or worse, you’re noticeably quite attached to the man, who’d appointed himself as your mentor. Nobody could quite understand why, out of all the people you’d attach yourself him, but you have a certain way about you when it comes to the younger members of the team - him and Yeager specifically.

“Thank you,” Yeager would say - because you’d make a point of checking on him when it became apparent what conditions were stipulated for him joining the Special Ops.

Titan or not there was just something off feeling about having to keep the boy in a dank, dungeon of a basement without any natural light or heat. You understand the safety precaution is to stop him transforming into a titan, but just on the surface level, the boy seems nice enough. You’re regularly lighting candles down there and bringing extra blankets, because you’re often staying awake until late and then rise with the sun the next day, as you’ve built a gruelling EFP schedule with Eld - who had it approved by Levi and the Commander.

It’s essentially flexible, you’re working all of your service hours and then some, but instead of just doing training activities and standard army fare in the run up to the expedition, you’re periodically off site at the Commander’s behest - for funding meetings, which had been explained when it is made abundantly clear to the others that your patron was responsible for forty five percent of the monarchy’s income, and that you are in unique position to advise on the matter. That, and your role in developing the EFP program was pivotal due to not only the education you’d been afforded, but the privileged access you had to the head of the world’s premier medical research facilities. None of them knew, or had a hint of, the moment you had shared with the Commander. Your mask does a good job of hiding just how flustered you are when you’re having to be in a room with the man, and truth be told, you’re often avoiding him just to prevent further embarrassment.

“That looked like it hurt,” Oruo calls out, looking a bit too smug, hands on his hips as you’re in a heap on the grass in the castle courtyard, having used the towers to practice an emergency carry. It was something you’d thought about when it came to your actual role - you’d be on horseback most of the time but, what if you had to extract or move someone in the field? In theory you would be moving them to one of the carts to work on them while moving, but you’re quite small and ODM relies on the successful balance of your weight, so you were doing a dummy run practice where you had essentially gotten a weighted stuffed mannequin with the approximate weight of added ODM gear and were in the position of trying to successfully move from the tower to a designated area that Oruo marks, and actively moves, to simulate an active ride.

“Just surface bruises, Mr Oruo!” you manage a strangled reply - carrying medical supplies and strap-in gear made you ever so slightly heavier, but the test dummy was a lot, but it’s easier for someone of your size to have the person strapped to your back but greatly limits how you can move. In reality, you’ll have to make do with whatever trajectory you’re on and anybody around you who might help, but the fact you’re able to move the way that you do, as a recent graduate no less, is impressive.

“Tch, just stick the landing better Sprout, you’re no good as an EFP if we’re scraping you off the ground,” Oruo says, but it’s now that you’ve learned his abrasive tones aren’t him being mean - it’s imitation, a mask - even, just like yours, but more metaphorical. You feel a warmth spread in your chest when he had begun calling you that - _Sprout -_ because he’d taken to lightly teasing you about your height, in a manner Petra found quite rude at times. Maybe it was, but you’d certainly heard worse, and would lapse into an easy laugh, and what was perhaps an intentioned insult in an attempt to mimic Levi’s sort of brogue had now become twisted into something quite sweet. It reminded you a little of Longinus - as you can count the affectionate terms of endearment you’d ever received on one hand, and when you would physically light up when spoken to like that - well - any irritation at how you were misreading his attempts at being like the cold and indomitable captain withered away under the gentle sparkle in your eyes.

Oruo’s an arrogant prick but he’s not absent of heart, and in truth, Petra is even getting less irritated by him, the more you’re around him, the more tolerable he is - though she can’t quite agree with your servile nature, and how Oruo will easily foist his responsibilities onto you. You do whatever he asks without question for the most part, but in return, the usually somewhat insufferable young man is markedly improving - evidenced one fateful dinner just as everybody is filing in after some training and castle chores.

You were about to leave the room, a glass of water in your hands before you bump squarely into Oruo’s chest, and almost spill some of it as you jerk your head up in surprise. Your nose deep in a book - when it became apparent what you’d be doing, you’d perused the castle shelves and had some rather old, dusty volumes but surprisingly some modern materials from when this was originally meant to be a scout base back when humanity had more hope.

_Applied Anatomy - Vol 1 - 4_ _ th _ _Edition -_

Well, modern as in from the current century anyway, luckily it’s based mostly on mortuary studies and solid information that wasn’t earlier century guesswork. It’s clinical, and a little on the dry side - hardly light reading and you’ve been consumed by it ever since you’d gotten your EFP schedule. The blurb itself listed it as required reading for most physicians, so whilst you waited on a letter response from Doctor Hamish, you were keeping busy. Nose deep in the _Anatomical Oddities - Allergens, Side-Effects and Birth Curios -_ a chapter on landmark medical cases that provided the basics for understanding unnatural reactions to common medicines and procedures.

Just looking down, Oruo can see things underlined, and little bits of paper sticking out between the pages - notes and page markers respectively, and is frowning at you a bit.

“Have you eaten?” he looks unimpressed at the glass of water in your hands, and he knows for a fact your portion of rations in the pantry isn’t going down as steadily as the others, and his tone is that naturally patronising one he’s adopted as of late, which has Petra scowling in the doorway.

She’s about to tell him off for his tone, too - until it morphs into something else, still full of casual disdain, warps into something else. Levi is behind her - about to push past, because the Commander will be joining them for dinner, as he’d been doing semi-regularly when not taking to his quarters or office.

“The beer you had yesterday doesn’t count.” - Levi cocks a brow when Petra looks at him, a silent conversation happening without any of them speaking a word.

“Erm - well - no, but - ah, you see - oh, I lose track of time Mr Oruo - I’ve a lot to get through before the expedition and---” clearly you didn’t expect to have your questionable personal habits looked into, because you’d had three years of just trying to survive under Ludolf that most eventually turned a blind eye to your pattern of behaviour.

“And you’re useless if you’re being scraped off of the ground,” they watch as Oruo takes the book from your hands and slams it closed, before raising it high above your head out of reach, with his other hand on his hip. “-Huh. A medical book? Have you gotten to the chapter on why it’s important to eat yet?” his tone is deeply sardonic “-You’re not going to have the energy for assist carries if you don’t, and frankly you’re already vertically challenged, you’re doing yourself no favours,” - his tone is bitingly harsh.

You wince a bit, suitably told off.

“I’ll take my rations upstairs then, so I can keep---” but the young man cuts you off again as you reach upwards, tip-toeing to try and grab the book out of his hands, but he then tosses it- and the heavy book then lands with a thud atop a high pantry cabinet that neither of you could reach with ease.

“Mr Oruo!” a rare flare of irritation towards the man surfacing, because much like a younger Dieter, he is determined to get his way, no matter how petulantly. “-that isn’t fair!” your soft tones breaking out into an indignant cry that made you sound terribly young, but Oruo just folds his arms over his chest, unmoved by it.

“Neither is life, now you’re going to sit and join us for dinner and you’re going to clear your plate, the Commander wanted to talk to us all anyway,” his tone brooked no room for argument, but you flush awkwardly and look away from him, irritation giving way to anxiety.

You weren’t avoiding the commander on purpose, but you felt so displaced around him after that little mouth incident that you don’t know what to do with yourself, but to tell the truth, you had been avoiding communal dinners.

“Yes sir,” you murmur miserably, because in truth, despite the three years of communal living, your constant starve outs and the persistent rumours and looks had you rarely eating in other’s company. Often you ate whatever leftovers Lotte had snuck into your pillowcase in the middle of the night, or you’d be eating with your back turned to everybody, in a sequestered area, under your face cloth.

The others file in quietly, chatting amongst themselves, but at your somewhat hurt seeming stare, Oruo swiftly stops you, hand landing on your shoulder as you turn away.

You struggle to look at him, because you’re noticeably anxious - but surprisingly, he puts two and two together in a way most would not quite expect from the young man. He seems to be taking his mentor role seriously, and nudges your face up with his knuckle quite easily when he places his hand just where your chin is beneath your face cloth.

“In fact, you’re going to join us every night you’re on site, and if you think we care about--” he makes a vague gesture to your cloth mask, and is as blunt as a brick through a glass pane. “- _that,_ then clearly you haven’t been paying attention to the fact we’ve been breaking bread with a titan brat for almost a week,” - Petra might have interjected about how insensitive and presumptuous he’s being of course - as she’s setting the table with Gunther, but you’re looking down at your feet in such a way that tells the more emotionally adept that Oruo is, for once, correct in his assessment of the situation.

You remember what Commander Erwin said - about how the special operatives were not quite so judgemental, but with three years of conditioning in your head, it is harder to believe than you’d like.

“It’s quite unsightly sir,” you breath quietly “-and people, they stare at it - I don’t - I prefer to avoid it,” - your shoulders slope a bit, and Oruo scoffs in a manner that oozes a casual disregard.

“You’re a special operative now so staring is a given, - but we don’t care about what you look like and have definitely seen worse. But surely you'll have been communally dining during your training, so how the Hell did you get through three years hiding your face like that?” he frowns at you, and you just cringe a little in response.

“With great difficulty Mr Oruo,” - it’s sad that the company of the rich elite had quicker gotten used to your facial oddity more than the soldiers from lower social rankings who had surely endured and seen a lot worse, having lived with harder access to medical facilities, famines and all manner of hardship.

"Yeah well," he scratches his cheek, looking a bit awkward now that he's realised just how many of the others are none too subtly watching his actions, and how distinctly unlike the captain he's being. "-You can hardly live like that forever, can you? Remove that silly thing and come join us," - he turns, and then he heads for the table, leaving you standing numbly by the pantry for a moment.

And that was that.

Truth be told, Petra or even Eld had contemplated eventually broaching the topic about your teeth with you - all of them had been made aware of the division you had come from and given a background on your career in the army so far so that they could understand why you were so readily placed with the Special Ops, without so much as a trial period, even after your body count at Trost. They'd heard the nicknames and the rumours - everybody had, of course, because there was a lot of rampant chatter about you in the forces, just as much as there was about Yeager - and they'd been present when Weber had apologised to you, and called you _Tin Teeth -_ Levi had seen your file, too, and seen where it was stated on the records of your physical. You hadn't been joining them for dinner, of course - but your nose was always in a book and you were often seen as overly busy in the short time you'd been there, and as Erwin's secondary pet project, it hadn't been questioned too much.

But Oruo Bozad had gone and brought up the elephant in the room, and had pierced through the nature of your shyness with all the grace and elegance of a bull in a china shop, and yet, strangely - it seemed to _work -_ and again, despite his callous delivery, Petra is now forced to reckon with her earlier assessment of his character. 

She had once said Oruo had the the emotional range of a grape, and the others were inclined to agree, but it seems that giving him responsibility over someone - someone who was relatively servile but looked up to him, for better or worse, was in fact good for the guy. Levi noticed it first, but it was becoming more apparent now - because you would always seek his opinion first, and then everybody else's - and that seemed to mean a fair bit. Even if Oruo is often wrong, and a pain in the neck from time to time, he's a good soldier, a young man who - ultimately is trying to find his identity, but thinks Captain Levi is something to aspire to.

It seems that being valued for just being Oruo had fallen so far to the wayside that once he's forcibly bombarded by somebody who does, the mask of mimicry cracks just a bit, and his true nature shows for what it is.

Eld Gin finds it really quite sweet, once he clocks onto what is happening.

"Nice to have you join us," he smiles warmly, he doesn't react when you're pulling your cloth down to your neck, and how visibly embarrassed you are. It's habit to have the back of your hand over your mouth until you're sat down. As promised, none of the special operatives react much, though subtly, and unnoticed by you, the captain glances at your reflection in the reflective jug of water that Gunther places on the table. Yeager is as blunt and unrefined as his station and age has him though, and openly looks at you for a moment before sitting down - if purely for the fact he's surprised by how pretty you are, because he has never seen under the mask, not even for a moment.

You make a non-committal noise, again regretting your choice of hair style, wanting to hide behind it at least a little - you miss the non subtle glare directed briefly at the Yeager boy from Oruo before he quickly looks away from you. For a while, you expect it to feel unnatural, as you'd avoided communal dining since you'd arrived, but they all seemed happy enough to talk to one another as though nothing irregular was happening, all of them greeting the commander with respect when he does, in fact, join you all. There's an unnoticeable tense in your muscles when he enters the room and sits beside Yeager and Levi, easily blending in and thanking Gunther when he plates out everybody's food - which is a mixture of hot soup and fresh bread.

This is the first time you've been in a room with the man since the little incident in his quarters, where he'd brazenly explored your mouth with his thumb, and held your face with far too much familiarity.

You're content for everybody to have conversation around you - most of it is about Eren Yeager and the testing he's meant to undergo in the next few days.

"I'd like you present for when those trials begin, you'll be accompanied by Doctor Hofstader if he can be spared - that'll start as soon as tomorrow - there's been some adjustments to your schedule," when Commander Erwin addresses you - it almost has you jumping completely out of your skin, as most talk had been about the titan boy, rather than anything about you - because as good as you are, you're just a person, not the thing that the military was flimsily claiming was the product of their own cutting edge science and experimentation, so all focus is on Eren.

"Of course sir," you say with a frown - you'd helped the base doctor do medical paperwork, and do check ups, but a titan boy is very different - and to that end, you do not consider yourself quite worthy of the medical accolades you're being afforded as a trial EFP - because you're still in training, truth be told, even if your education and medical exposure is superior to most others, you were still working out the nature of your apprenticeship whilst still in service, which is what the EFP program boiled down to when you get to the bones of it. "I'll do my best," - because you don't know what to say except that you cannot look this man in the face - and thankfully, nobody seems to notice your reaction, because they just assume you're reacting 

"We'll also be doing an excursion to Vortheim in the next three days, there's a lecture on Applied Pathophysiology at the college I want you to attend," you feel the pressure of the curious stares from the others, and wonder for a moment, what the commander is thinking - until you remember that he did state the reason for your flexible schedule and forays into the cities would be explained so that it doesn't look quite so salacious on the outside - so you suppose this impromptu announcement at dinner is the commander's way of doing that.

You're more surprised he's got you into a medical lecture at such short notice, but don't question it - the man moves shockingly fast.

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," you decide to just nod and agree - medical lectures at least, make sense, and the commander was likely just heading into Vortheim himself for some business or another - but he swiftly clarifies this, before it becomes a source of curiosity or guesswork. "I'll also be having a meeting with Lord König about funding for the EFP course, for which I'd appreciate your assistance," he watches the way you tense a little bit, because surely they're all wondering how you could possibly assist.

It's apparent to you now that this is some sort of show, as well as just delivering the news to you, he could do it to everyone and justify your sudden close quarters with him despite being such a fresh graduate - you have a lot going on, after all, and with the exception of Ludolf's conduct review, for which your attendance is easily explained, they need to know why you're being elevated as much as you are, and just what he has planned.

The others notice how tense you are, and your shoulders are reflexively drawn up to your ears just a bit, spoon pausing in motion in your soup.

That name seems familiar, and you furrow your brow - mind flashing through some old memories, because it's painfully familiar, and you can remember it - but it's on the tip of your tongue until the memory hits you like a freight train. It's an old memory - four years back, but it's sharp and once you remember, you instantly recall now why it was shoved into the furthest recesses of his mind, and it made you uneasy. Suddenly, the already bland soup tasted like ash in your mouth, and your physical reaction was utterly visceral, your lip curling in visible distaste.

"Ah, Lord Adrianus König, sir? Or has his son finally reached majority?" your voice, soft as it is, takes an edge to it that is much more noticeable as a result.

"No, but yes, we'll be meeting with Lord Adrianus, are you familiar?" as though reading into your discomfort, targets the edge in your tone " - Is there something I should know?" he's genuinely curious, because your odd role in high society is unique and difficult to understand. It seems everybody knows of you, but any actual pull and rank you have is on the back of being a ward of Lord Wolfgang in everything except sharing a last name. You look around uncomfortably at the other special operatives that are present - because to be honest, the conversation about some of the more awful closed door habits of Sina's elites was not something you wanted to have.

This was your first proper dinner with the squad, and it was already awkward.

"Know him? I sang at his wedding a few years back," you scoff a bit, but shake your head " - but his eldest son is rather ghastly if memory serves, if the estate passes to him I'm not entirely sure we'd be able to rely on their contributions anymore, that's why I asked," you said quickly, settling on the word ghastly because in truth, that's why your facial expression had curled into one of such visible distaste.

Commander Erwin is the sort to keep his cards close to his chest, he plays them when he needs to or when there's an ulterior motive, and so it becomes very apparent to Levi that this conversation is one that should have happened in private, but he's electing to have it over dinner with the intent of them understanding your strange, new role whilst having to deal with the integration of Eren Yeager. 

"How do you know him?" it's Eld who asks, and takes the bait that the man has left, because he needs them to understand how valuable you are outside of what you're capable of doing in the field. 

"I know whoever my Lord-Father and Dieter know," you say, trying to wave off their curiosity as best you could, you were only really comfortable with Erwin knowing your family's true nature, because you desperately wanted to turn over a new leaf, to start afresh - but you can't do that if you have to keep dredging up the past. You also don't - well - you don't want the special operatives looking at you differently, you already had to contend with most of the army knowing exactly what you'd gone through under Instructor Ludolf's humiliating three year vendetta against you, and you didn't want to bare the thought of them - Oruo too - looking down at you for the kind of lifestyle you've led. It's not one you're proud of, and so you find yourself frowning a little bit at Commander Erwin.

"Lord-Father's the largest business owner in the Horsefair, the Merchant's Guild, invested in half of Mitras's businesses and a good quarter in Stohess I think, probably more - but he gets a lot of his capital directly from the other noble lines in Wall Sina," you try to explain it as cleanly as possible, abstaining from details unless you have to, because it's hardly dinner table conversation and you'd be much more comfortable discussing it one to one. "So he gets it by being the owner of the Golden Playhouse, I don't know if you've heard of it but it's an invite-only theatre business for the elites, where he caters to their particular tastes," you try to keep it vague, but this just earns a clueless frown from everybody at the table besides Erwin, who just looks curious.

The Golden Playhouse is something he's heard of only by name, it's one of those rich establishments most people are tangentially aware of exists, but any concrete information about it is scarce unless you're in the privileged masses.

"Uh, musicals?" that was the innocent reply from Gunther which drew an ungraceful snort that you apologetically smother, embarrassed at your own slip in your manners.

"Well, musicals and plays in the day time," you shift a little bit, looking briefly at Yeager, and then at Erwin.

_I can't believe he's making us have this conversation here._

"What happens afterwards is rather more... ah, not dinner time conversation, and titan or not I think Yeager might be a bit too young for it, so lets just leave it at that," you said, cheeks blushing noticeably which only draws Eld and Gunther in more, and gets Oruo looking at you oddly while Levi looks relatively nonplussed, though he too, has raised a brow.

"I'm fifteen!" Yeager sounds incredibly indignant, and the statement betrays just how young he is because it draws a small smile from you and Petra, as it seems the rest of the squad have at least vaguely clocked on to the direction you're going in.

"Exactly, far too young to hear about the strange," you pause, trailing off for a moment with an embarrassed grimace " - _predilections_ of the upper class, they're terribly depraved and hardly dinner conversation. The point is, Lord-Father caters to a lot of specific niche desires and as a result, I know everybody he knows," you let out an exhausted sort of noise - at least you didn't have to explain the exacting nature of your role, they don't need to know what business Lord Wolfgang had you working in directly, that could stay between you and the Commander, surely.

_You remember being sixteen, too young for the role you're in even if you're of marriageable age, the stage curtains have been drawn and those that are staying for the afterparty are on a far more exclusive list. A long, dark purple and black cloak is shed, revealing a dress that is far too crisp and white, especially against your skin tone, revealing all too much of your shape and overall figure._

_The kinds of people that stick around - well, they're married, unmarried, widowed and divorced - there really is no barrier on the kind of person who sticks around. There's young lords and ladies, and older ones, with streaks of grey in their hair, and an array of passingly lecherous stares as you lead them down a brown carpeted, narrow corridor that is lined with mirrors, with small, single-panel oak doors littering either side and leading to various sized rooms that, by all rights, should probably belong to actors and actresses, yet remain empty. You turn around, hands placed neatly on your hips, body laden heavily with silver around your neck, wrists, head and upper arms to match your teeth in a display of absolute opulence._

_"Welcome to the Golden Playhouse afterhours, where your business is our pleasure and your pleasure is our business," your voice a low, practiced purr as you gesture with your left arm to the very end of the corridor, where there's the bottom of a spiral staircase leading to a level above._

_"Reserved rooms are upstairs my lovely Lords and Ladies, for those with special access, please follow me. For the rest of you? Do have fun, indulge yourselves.... it's why you're here, isn't it?"_

It almost felt like another life, really - and Dieter had known you were doing it, but in truth, didn't realise the full extent of just how salacious it could get, again perhaps stemming from the fact he had no desire to picture his would-be sister in anything close to resembling a sexual situation.

"Wow," Eld blinks, because it clicks with him about the same time it does for Levi and Erwin - as you'd all but laid it out for them - especially using the word _desires -_ but Eren looks blissfully unaware "-I suppose you're a good person to know then, I bet you've got dirt on all the nobles," he comments wryly.

You just shrug.

"They're rich, bored and don't have to work, so let your imaginations run wild," you sigh, feeling suitably put off your food but finishing it as Oruo pushes the soup bowl a little closer to you in a silent reminder that he expects you to clear your plate regardless of the current situation.

"We'll discuss this in more detail later," Erwin puts an end to the conversation there and then, because it opens the door to something far more intimate than he'd quite had planned, but now at least, the squad must understand why he feels the need to have you on these very private, and rather high level excursions. "-but nonetheless, this is why I'll be pulling you off site so much as well as your medical training, I'll endeavour to make sure it doesn't interfere too much with your training schedules, Captain Levi," even though Levi is his subordinate, Commander Erwin still affords him a lot of respect, as he does manage his team quite well, even if he has to send them in blind for the sake of not jeopardising any missions.

"Just let me know," Captain Levi says shortly " - As long as she's there for formation practice runs that's fine," he adds.

And then the subject, once again, changes back to Eren Yeager - and you sigh with relief - because if they ask for any more detail at the table you might just die of shame.

* * *

Commander Erwin Smith is not a man whose easily taken by surprise, but every new little thing he gleans about you, and the true nature of your past, manages to do just that. At first he thought you might just be a collection of traumatic events - ones that he's aware of, the carnage of Trost, the documented horror with Instructor Ludolf, and the insinuations that come with your lack of last name despite such a powerful wardship. That, and perhaps some sort of industrial accident that likely led to the alloy that sits in your jaw rather than actual teeth, but every time he pulls at the thread that bundles the sum of your parts, there's more there than he'd ever thought. Lord Wolfgang is overwhelming enough, but to hear about the sort of sordid and wholly questionable lifestyle you were entrenched in - it was enough to make a normal person's head spin.

_You just want a fresh start, don't you?_

He looks at you when you're sat in his office, nervously shuffling your weight from thigh to thigh in the chair across from his desk.

Lord Wolfgang has his hand in every sort of pie, because he wants to be able to control the wealthy elite, so it isn't _just_ substance abuse or moving problems and people, it's catering to their salacious wants and desires. Lord Wolfgang wanted his heir in the MPs just to facilitate his business more with the common folk, and you were just - well - it seemed like you were remoulded for whatever purpose Leon had in mind, whether it's to work in the Playhouse, or join the army, or....

_I really don't know a thing about you, do I?_

"The meeting with the Lord and your session at the college will be quite close together, I'm just doing some travel arrangements but unfortunately a lot of Vortheim is booked up in advance by those coming to the specialist lecture from surrounding cities. It's quite a small place, so if you have any pull in that area, I'd be grateful," the Commander floats that to you, but unfortunately, Vortheim really is a rinkydink dot on the map and outside of the college they have, there really isn't terribly much there - and is the living definition of what one might describe as a college town.

"Afraid not sir," you murmur - still a little embarrassed over the last conversation you'd had in private.

"Then we may be staying in quite close quarters," Erwin pauses "-is that going to be alright?" - he asks like he's asking a benign question, like it's harmless, and all business. You - however - notice how he doesn't go into detail regarding just how close he means by close quarters. There's a tension between the two of you, you think - but you're not sure if that's just you being wishful or not. You're still bent out of shape about Dieter, and the impending reaction from Wolfgang about your regiment choice that in truth, you'd just thrown yourself into your work in an effort not to think about it, but when Erwin asks to have a private conversation with you after dinner in his office, it's all you can think about. 

"After three years of communal living sir, that's fine," you're swift to remind him that it's not too odd of a thing, just because he's been a commander means he probably hasn't had to slum it in those sorts of conditions for a while, but what is certainly irregular is the fact that, well, it'd be close quarters with a different sex, and that could be contentious. Most taverns and inns don't particularly care, but for a man like the commander - he would have to remain low profile, or prepare for a fresh bout of rumours, but then again, Vortheim was a tiny place, and probably didn't have much, if any, military presence.

"If- I mean, will that be okay with you?" you turn the tables a bit, because you're clearly fine with sleeping in questionable conditions, and the mixing of sexes never bothered you much, but there's certain societal assumptions and expectations. You clearly don't have much regard for notions of maidenhood, and are rather pragmatic about it all, which Erwin can appreciate - however - as much as he may have planned to flirt with you and gauge just how loyal you are when put between himself and Leon Wolfgang, the idea of being forced by circumstance, in a manner that might even make you uncomfortable, does not sit well with the man.

So he wants to make sure it's alright, and says as much.

"Of course," the implication being he's the commander, and he can do as he likes, and doesn't concern himself with rumours and opinion - the only thing he's concerned about is if this could be a problem for you.

You're not quite used to the concern. It's been a while since a superior in the army had afforded you any sort of care.

"I just want you to be comfortable, as we may end up having to share a room - separate beds preferably, but unfortunately Vortheim is rather small and inundated with travelling professionals for this particular lecture," he clarifies just how close it could be, and adds the thing about the beds as an afterthought, because he's not a total bastard, he wouldn't force anybody to share a bed, and the situation is already quite inappropriate on the face of it, but is more of a needs-must sort of thing that the pair of you will just have to cope with.

"Yes sir I'm aware, I've seen it on the maps," you add, before the weight of the implication sets in and you feel your face go warm, mask sitting at your neck - you feel quite vulnerable as he examines your expression. You look anywhere but him, eyes roaming the walls and gliding over the dusty spines of the hardback books in the room he'd claimed as his office in the castle. Part of you looks forward to getting out, and perhaps lapsing back to your bad habits, in an effort to try and drown out the emptiness that has come from your choice to essentially go rogue, and have to abandon the future that Dieter envisioned for you, and what Lord Wolfgang had wanted.

The bad part of you wants to be in a bar down town, searching for a feeling that keeps you alive - the feeling that pain seeking gets you, because physical pain is always louder than what's in your head, and that alone is worth it.

But Vortheim is tiny, and you'll be shoulder to shoulder with the Commander.

"But needs must," you glance briefly at his face, then down at his desk, exhaling slowly - because this is _really_ happening, and it's still difficult for you to parse what could be flirting and what is just the situation playing out for what it is. "I've hardly a reputation to protect sir, I'm more concerned for yours, but if you're amenable, I'll go wherever you want me to," 

_You're my new Lord, whether you realise that or not._

"Then it's settled," Erwin is resolute, but looks at how you shift unsurely in your seat. The truth is, part of you contemplates sliding into temptation and flirting openly, to see if a man like that really has any sort of interest in a person like you - but by the same token, did you really want to be the woman who sleeps with their superior? Even if that superior has cheekbones to die for? You'd resisted Ludolf out of indignance and flagrant lack of attraction, but Erwin Smith is a different matter all together. Just his voice is able to get your legs feeling weak, and when he affords you such personal attention, or explores your mouth like he owns it - is it the power? Or is it really just how good he looks?

It's a toxic combination of both, and the man represents everything you've ever held in high regard.

He's everything you'd ever looked up to from the pillow of your bed, imagining your father might be somebody like him.

He's so - well, everything about him really. You look down at yourself, your tongue running over the back of the metal that sits in your mouth, because as much as men might value your body, certainly there must be women far more beautiful and elegant who've thrown themselves at this man, surely? Just _look at him,_ who wouldn't? He's powerful in terms of rank, he's a survivor - clearly one of the best the scouts had ever bred because he's managed to lead the helm and reduce casualties dramatically through pure efficiency, he's tall and his body exudes a sense of utter control and power in his strides from how much muscle sits in the thickness of his thighs and arms. He also speaks with elocution that comes from good education - and blue sapphire eyes that glow with knowledge, almost like he always knows something the rest of the world doesn't.

In short, he's a lot to endure - and while his rank doesn't intimidate you, the idea of getting involved in a more intimate way than you had with your Lord-Father presents risks, and once you've done it - well - you cannot un-ring that bell.

And he could just plain not want you, and you could just have humiliated yourself for all time, maybe even get a write-up.

_Close that disaster you call a mouth_ rings through your mind in your darker moments, and it does now when you look up at the inscrutable man, exhaling shakily.

"Is there anything else you wanted from me, sir?" you don't emphasise a suggestive tone, but with the last thing the pair of you had done alone together, you do not have to. The air becomes a little thicker and heavy, because there's something completely unsaid hanging in the air, as he also had neglected to bring up your casual avoidance of him after the little incident on his desk. He looks over at you from his steepled fingers, like he's about to say something, and you look at him with baited breath, because you can feel his eyes flickering over different parts of your face, before he shakes his head negatively.

"No, unless you're willing to entertain an older man's ego for a moment?" he says smoothly, and grimly, you muse, that's something of a specialty of yours.

"Sir?" you tilt your head a little in curiosity, feeling your heart constrict a little bit in your chest. It's now that Erwin proves himself to live up to his reputation as someone whose entirely blunt, and charming though he is, he's not one to dance around a subject, and in truth, he's resigned himself to his station as someone that simply _must_ be alone and not seek the companionship of others. But he's a man - just like any man and despite rising above these more human needs, they're still there, still present - and he's not so far removed from himself that he cannot acknowledge when he finds somebody attractive. You most certainly are, and it's certainly all of the little things that make you different - you are, after all, a vestige of a different kind of race that, as far as Erwin's aware, no longer exist. Those beautifully different people, well, they're evidence of what once was, what the world could be again maybe, and on the visceral level everything from the shape of your nose the fullness of your lips and tan in your skin - he cannot help but find you utterly beautiful. It's no wonder now, he concludes grimly, that someone like you ends up with someone like Lord Wolfgang - men who collect businesses and noble secrets like a hobby. 

Of course he'd _collect_ you, when in truth there are so many things about _who_ you are rather than _what you are_ that make you special. You're an exceptional titan slayer, you're kind and accommodating to a fault, you ache for soldiers who die in battle whom you do not know and more than anything, you took to healing others like you were born for it if the recommendation of your old training camp doctor was to be believed.

When he sees so many exceptional things, he cannot help but think you're utterly wasted on a man who would rather have you entertaining the depraved desires of noblemen and women.

"It's inappropriate of me to ask, but do you - " his voice is that low, silky lilt again and you freeze when his hand naturally moves towards you, finger lightly brushing the underside of your chin and tilting your head up to look into his eyes when you're trying to stare a hole into his desk, feeling that nervous sweat build up again.

" - perchance, still have that little crush of yours?"

You dropped your stare instantly, even though you can feel the Commander's finger holding you in place - it slowly moves to trace your jawline - just a little bit, not enough to be quite so invasive as it surely must look on the outside, but you feel your skin emanating heat against your will in response, and begin to compulsively rub your knees against each other once more.

_I - you - what the fuck - ?!_

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt like a wrong chord on a piano tune, breaking the melody of your thoughts with a crude and ugly bleat. Erwin's face is that of an utterly unreadable sort as well, and his expression gives you nothing, as he's not smiling, not even smirking, his eyes affixed to yours with that knows-too-much glimmer that doesn't betray any insecurity.

You want to summon up the courage you have when it's just you and the special operatives, really, you do - but right now, you cannot help but think you're trapped in a dream, or a moment that isn't yours, because surely a man whom everyone banded as beyond moral reproach wouldn't stoop so low as to flirt with you like this?

"Are you teasing me, Commander?" you try to take it in a humorous direction, but by its very nature, the word _tease_ drips through a little sensuousness that only makes the thickness in the air that much worse. You surely didn't mean it in that sort of a way, but instantly, your mind plunges to the gutters and you wonder if Erwin is doing the same.

"No," his answer is short, and the finger stops when you turn your head to the left, gently breaking away from his forward touch, feeling your heart pound.

"What're you asking me, sir?" you suppress a shudder, but there's goosebumps along your neck and arms from his light touch now that he's fully retracted.

_What is your ulterior motive, everybody wants something, and I refuse to believe you just want me, because you can have whomever you please._

"Men like you," slowly rising out of your chair, you look briefly at the wooden clock on the walls, and then back at him. 

_I need to go before I make a fool of myself._

"Make cocottes out of women like us," you exhale, not quite answering his question with a firm yes, but the implication is enough " - with frightening ease. I'll be the first to admit it sir, lacking in precious maidenhood as I am, I've certainly allowed myself some inappropriate thoughts, and I'd doubt I am the only one," you add - flushing darkly. 

Even men like Erwin Smith want to hear good things about themselves, everybody wants _something_ \- you just needed to figure out what it is he's seeking out of you. A man so serious as this is impossible to read and any foray into flirtation is a risk, both by the nature of his station and how much rides on you having his utmost trust and support.

Erwin feels his breathing change subconsciously, inhaling just a bit deeper as he looks upon you - as you had just as well admitted to having what you self-described as inappropriate thoughts about him, he cannot help but feel his interest arouse from what was ultimately a rather benign - flirtatious question.

He didn't expect such a serious, somewhat intimate answer.

His plan to - well - what was his plan? Test the waters of your attraction, and see if it's enough to get you closer to him than to Leon Wolfgang?

_Even in my own head I sound like a narcissistic bastard_ he muses, but observes the colour in your cheeks, and reclines a little in his chair.

_But needs must._

"I hope that satisfies your ego, sir - now - I do believe I should go, I promised I would help Miss Petra clean the kitchens before bed," - when the man nods at you, allowing your dismissal, you salute and then turn on your heel, stopping short at the door when your hand lands firmly on the doorknob.

_Just say it. Say it and don't look back. Then we'll both have said some regrettable, inappropriate things, and we'll be even._

"Do let me know if you," - you falter, it sounds as awful out loud as it does in your head, and for a loathsome moment you force yourself into the shoes of the version of you who used to be confident around these powerful, unyielding men - finding it easier to do so with your back turned to the man, your voice takes on a confident, low purr "-require any further satisfaction sir. Good night."

_Or we'll be something a little more -_ is the last thought you have as you leave the office.

The door creaks shut, and Erwin lets out a long, deep exhale - one he didn't know he was holding in. He didn't want to be the one to push the envelope too far, though it had been part and parcel of his plan when it came to making sure you were on the correct side in all of this, he certainly didn't want to be one to force you, or make you feel like you _had_ to entertain his vague lust, however muted he is about it. He has power - too much of it, and he doesn't want to be the sort that would make you quiver in quiet fear the way that you do with your patron, he just wants your loyalty, he wants everything you give to Leon and then some, he wants you to be _extraordinary -_ and be mirror to humanity's strongest, if that was at all possible. 

He wants to unravel your mystery because he's deafeningly curious, and he has no right to it - yet he wants it.

Maybe you do too - because the last thing you say has him reeling just a little out of sorts, because while he'd heard the rumours of your nightly exploits, he'd thought them exaggerated, as most stories among soldiers tend to be. For a moment, he feels guilty - because after what you'd said at dinner, he wonders if the way that you are is purely the product of what Wolfgang had you do, or if perhaps, any part of it is something you want - the last thing he wants is for you to feel like you _must_ entertain his ego, he wants you to want him, rather, or alluring you is out of the question utterly.

_Oh, a penny for those inappropriate thoughts -_ he inhales sharply behind his steepled fingers, elbows on his desk as he shifts a little in his chair, because that makes him think your parting words aren't just conditioning or necessity, for a moment, he's contemplating just how much you mean it, when you promise him satisfaction, and lets out a small, frustrated, muted sound, followed by a long sigh.

_I may have forgotten how to talk to women in such a manner -_ he realises grimly, which doesn't bode particularly well for his plans in general _\- something I should have realised when I thought fraternisation was a viable choice._

He closes his eyes and lays back in his chair once more, trying to calm the storm of thoughts to a gentle quiet in his mind.

"Satisfaction," he mutters to himself, shaking his head to himself, a sort of vexation oozing into his little murmur - it's ridiculous, he thinks, because he's the one that's meant to be seducing _you._

_What a mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ///// A:N: why did I let myself go so deep into the stuff with Oruo? I guess the Dieter shaped hole is pretty big. I guess Reader's looking for things to fill the void. Oruo for Dieter. Erwin for Leon. My my, aren't you just a mess of bad habits?
> 
> Poor Erwin man, he expected to get her in his web, not the other way around. oops. I kinda like fancy schmancy noble-esque flirting here and there mixed with her very sort of... blunt, uncompromisingly lewd, daddy-issue related habits, it's a nice juxtapose and now y'all get another hint why she's built that way. My girl had a fucked role for Lord Leon man, what can I say.
> 
> I guess Leon Wolfgang is kind of like a super fucked up Petyr Baelish, he do be on that pimp game but like, also that Gus Fring game. There's a reason he funds most of the Crown. My dude has his hands in all the naughty pies :x


	10. Day Three - Growth

Chapter Ten

Day Three

\- Growth -

The HQ has a disused medical wing that had very quickly become known as your office. You do not consider yourself to be quite of enough importance to warrant one entirely to yourself, but most soldiers - graduating class included, had only ever done the standard fare for first aid in the field, but only you had three years of service hours as a medical assistance, and such a high education to match. Gunther delivers you a letter directly from horse-drawn courier. You miss it, of course - because you’ve been so wrapped up in the work that’s been foisted on you that you hardly feel assimilated into the special operatives, save for the friendship you had forcibly carved out with the young Bozad.

“Well look at you,” Eld comments as you stare mutely at the stack of papers on your desk, rolling one out - you suppose you’re meant to hang this certificate that’s come delivered, but it all feels so sudden that you don’t know if you deserve it. You have the service hours, the practice, and the sign off of a good doctor - and class work that backs up the thing you’ve been sent, but it still feels undeserved. It seems Commander Erwin had it expedited, but everything you had ever accomplished had been in pursuit of making Dieter an MP, the things you, yourself had been good at - well, they’d been born out of necessity. You were in the hospital wing so much that it was the only place you’d ever had respite, and truth be told you never wanted anyone to be burdened with quite as much pain as Ludolf had put you under - but this? This certificate? This _title?_ It is apparently well warranted, you’ve more experience than most graduates who have been marked as potential EFPs, more education and are indeed, older - but…

“Matron, huh? I suppose you get to boss us around for the good of our health, eh, Rookie?” Eld is serious, but less so than Erwin and Levi, and has a good natured air about him. He and Gunther have been helping you lay claim to the disused wing. You’d discovered it after doing a little exploration and considering the role the commander was having you play in the testing the young Yeager was meant to go through, it was prudent to have somewhere set up, for him, and for training accidents. It seems HQ is going to be the base of the special operatives for the long haul, and so having a fully outfitted medical area is wise in case there’s any injuries in the field. Hospitals are constantly packed to capacity and soldiers are often seen to privately, anyway.

“I’d suppose so, Mr Eld, though I'll admit, I still feel a little too young for a title like that,” you hand him the certificate, papering over an old, rather ugly portrait of landscape that had become bleached from lack of care and sun pouring through dusty windows, ruining the oils. He neatly puts the certification into the frame, which he’s cleaned with a wet rag - it reads with your name - and the title _Accredited Nurse Practitioner - MIT, Mastered by Snr. O. Dr Heinrich Lufthanser - awarded by Einrich Institute of Medical Science -_ you spend a while thinking on what it means. MIT - stands for medic in training for the title of doctor, and too often nurses are relegated to midwifery in hopes of being poached by the rich elites for the status of governess, but you had wardship - you didn’t need, or desire to be a plaything of the elite. You know what that entails, and opportunity drowned you, but this? To be not just considered accredited, but in education for the role of surgeon doctor - or _MIT -_ well, that’s a little beyond the scope of EFP, but you’d mapped it out. You saw how the commander wanted this program modelled - he’d gotten input from Hange, apparently, who just took a direct stencil from a working hospital and proposed it for the way this EFP hierarchy would work, with some small changes. At the top sits an Overseer- a head doctor, such as Dr Heinrich, and then a field-capable leader of red cloaks - EFPs - who either hold, or are working to hold an accredited nurse title. The overseer doesn’t go into the field but rather, is responsible for the continued education and standard maintenance of the EFPs, to allot replacements should they die in the field, conducting training and advising, as well as assisting the injured when recovered after expeditions. Dr Heinrich Lufthanser has, apparently, agreed to the role, under the stipulation that you be made the leader of any EFPs during expeditions.

So, you’re the Matron, and Commander Erwin had took no issue with that, in fact seeming quite pleased. You’d be happier about it if you weren’t preoccupied by the fact that you had whatever Lord Wolfgang's reaction would be, hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles.

“Now back on the bed if you please, I know you wanted to help but I didn’t think you’d be so eager as to be my first patient,” a light tease in your tone. He’s Levi’s second-in-command, serious and generally not one to fool around, but he’s also tall, well built and kind ear - willing to help you get this medical wing in good shape. He’d thrown out his back moving a nicer desk into the adjoining office, which you supposed once belonged to an overseer, but was now yours.

“I suppose I can’t resist a lady a distress?” Eld offers, though his tone is flat, and dry, he’s not incapable of humour, but nonetheless, he goes to one of the patient beds you’d put fresh sheets on, and sits down, one leg over the other with traces of amusement on his face.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, Mr Eld,” as you advance on him, he looks at your curiously “-but a lady?” you scoff - from all the things you’d been called, all of the names, even amongst high society, you were never referred to as a lady in a meaningful way, only ever as an error, mistaken for nobility in noble company. “Perish the thought, now take that off please - I’ll just be a moment,” - he watches the way you move, recoiling and grimacing at some of the dust covered medicine bottles in the cabinet, trying to find something that isn’t expired. You give off the appearance of someone sliding naturally into any role given, you walk with a quiet decorum, and eventually find something that doesn’t make you pull a face.

Eld Gin takes off his uniform jacket and puts it over the headboard, watching you set down a small, off-colour white bottle on the unfolded gurney next to the bed, before he feels your small hand pressing against his upper back.

“Alright Mr Eld, you seem to be fine walking around without any pain in your back so you haven’t hurt it too badly, just tell me if you’re feeling any pain or discomfort - “ you press your fingers, freshly washed but gently through his thin, cotton grey shirt “- Here,” - no reaction “-here,” no reaction “-and here?” - a small wince.

“Ah there we go, lean forward onto your stomach for me Mr Eld,” you flush a little bit at having to give orders, especially to the second in command, but he does so without question. It’s strange, being as servile as you were, you never expected to have this sort of authority - or be the sort of person that has their own _office_. Any control you had over anyone above you in station was purely the power of suggestion, and well practised beguiling of noble egos, so Eld’s readiness was startling. The fact you’d have EFPs answering to you as well as equally odd to think about.

“I’m just going to roll up your shirt a little bit and apply some more pressure, it doesn’t seem too bad, but do refrain from being so gentlemanly in the future if it’s going to give you a herniated disk,” you chuckle weakly, before gingerly rolling the bottom of his thin shirt, untucking it from his belt to do so. Even though he’s on his back, and you are clinical and respectful, you cannot help but feel a little distracted when he makes passive remarks to lighten the mood.

“And disappoint my mother? No cha--agh!” he has a good pain tolerance, but is cut off when your soft touch presses into a wider area of his lower back than last time. “That does hurt just a little,” he admits.

“Mm, alright, I’ve got some anti-inflammatories that should do the trick nicely, granted most of the things here are expired, these should still work - perhaps not quite as potently as desired, but better than nothing. I’ll need to put a list together of fresh supplies and see about getting them ordered in,” you move your fingers along some of the flesh of his back, feeling the taut muscle underneath.

“You’ll be just fine, you haven’t quite thrown it out as badly as you think, so continue to train but lay off the ODM for about three days and get back to me if it gets worse and we’ll review. We can also do something else to mitigate the pain a little in the mean time- most of West Division, myself included, are rather a fan of heat therapy for this sort of thing. It’s your lucky day Mr Eld, I consider myself an expert,” you comment wryly.

Eld makes a noise of agreement, hearing you walk away briefly and then roll up a little more of his shirt. In truth, the injury isn’t too bad, but giving you the opportunity to act within your professional capacity for the first time was valuable experience, and you hadn’t a chance to show the skills you had demonstrated and developed under Dr Lufthanser.

“Lucky indeed, you seem to be taking to your responsibilities quite - _ahhhh….”_ his words die in his throat when he feels something very warm and wet - hot actually - uncomfortable for all of a second until it quickly morphs into utter bliss. You’ve got a hot, wet compress on his back using hot water you had boiling for some tea, giving off a light wisp of steam once you’d ensured it wasn’t too hot to hold with your bare hands - as you didn’t want to burn anyone.

“Seriously - oh - _that is really nice,”_ Eld tempers his words as best he can, but his voice actually betrays him by cracking slightly, which doesn’t happen often at his age. He’s a hard one to rumble, too, but between that and the gentle pressure of your fingers being applied in the right place, he can feel his pulled muscles relaxing and soothing under your ministrations “-who taught you this?” he murmurs into the bedding, unable to keep the pleasant purr out of his tone. He wants to remain professional and is doing his damned best, but you've a wonderful touch and an amazing capability for muscle and spinal manipulations.

“Doctor Lufthanser, I was his assistant for a lot of my reprimands, and with the hours of stress positions that Instructor Ludolf was fond of dishing out, he’s something of a master in chiropractic spinal manipulation and muscle therapies,” you explain shortly.

“Ah. I see,” he almost wants to apologise for asking a question that brought up the mere mention of Ludolf. It’s that background context that most of them have different ideas about, Levi having the clearest information - as he’d gotten it straight from Erwin himself, but it was just something that wasn’t picked on. You’d shown the effects of it in little bursts, like how you’d recoiled from Oruo the first time you’d met him and had the courage to disagree with his callousness.

“You’re a credit to your base doctor,” Eld says simply - he thought the hot towel might be unpleasant from the fact it’s wet, but it merely sunk the sensation of warmth deeper into his torn and strained muscles, and combined with the skilled touch of your fingers working on top of it, he doesn’t want to move at all.

He lets out a long, blissful sigh when you place pressure in just the right place, and the sound of a light pop from the release of strain and tension in his bones loosens under your light weight.

“I should throw my back out more often,” he murmurs, eyes closed with a smile fighting its way onto his face. You make an acknowledging sound in reply, eyes flickering to the ajar door - you've half a mind to pull up the old privacy curtains that hung from the rusted rail bars, until you see how utterly moth eaten they are. There's a lot of work to do - a lot of things to throw yourself into, a temporary respite from your overall concerns, worries, uncertainty with your patron and everything going on with Dieter. You'd tried to paper over some of the ache by spending time with Oruo, but the last thing you wanted was to push him away with neediness, and you've gone three years struggling to form relationships with fellow soldiers, it's only lately that, that has changed. So, you take moments away from the young man in order to study, or otherwise distract yourself from the _Commander Situation -_ because the Vortheim trip is happening regardless.

Talking to Eld, while just a bit odd, is refreshing - less awkward and stilted than it was with the commander, who is even more straight-laced and absent of humour where Eld is not.

The pair of you end up talking for a while, Eld's eyes following you as he watched you flitter around the formerly disused ward. There's something about you that is naturally reassuring - an aura of composed calm, but utterly methodical, manning your tea station and boiling water for the heat therapies and intermittently marking off expired medicines. Your touch is gentle, yet expert - like you know every muscle indentation of his exposed back with all the skill of a calligrapher's hand to paper, and it's now that he remembers how you recoiled the first time you'd come to HQ, and found your voice when Oruo was speaking callously and rudely - because you wilted at the thought that someone may strike you.

Three years of what was surely an exceptionally gruelling training regime under Ludolf, the horrors of Trost, and the kind of upbringing where you might never have to see a titan in your life - sequestered behind Wall Sina - had Eld Gin completely lost, because he doesn't understand how the tenderness hasn't been beaten out of you.

"Thanks for the check-up, I'll let the others know they'll be due theirs soon," - you'd also checked him over, as annual health check ups were a given in the army, and now the responsibility would fall to you, and you were told you'd receive army personnel file copies for the explicit purpose of updating the medical sections for everyone at HQ - which, surprisingly, would also include the commander. "-Let me know if any of them give you trouble, alright? I know Section Commander Hange can be a little... avoidant of these sorts of things," Eld comments, and then takes pause.

He's second-in-command and, seriousness aside, is infinitely less abrasive than Captain Levi, and he'd hope - more approachable than Commander Erwin, as his rank is closer to your own - and you're just a fresh graduate. An exceptional one no doubt, with a unique set of skills, contacts and experiences, but a newbie all the same, whose being given a gigantic amount of trust and resources - it must be quite pressurising, especially with the known expectation that you are expected to keep Commander Erwin in close company and are expected to contribute not just as a soldier and EFP, but as noble counsel.

"-in fact, you can come to me for anything. If you need any help, or advice - I'll be happy to help any way that I can. I can't pretend I know it all, or understand the complex medical or noble intricacies of your roles, but I've been Captain Levi's second-in-command for a while, and I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two," he gives you what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he puts his uniform jacket back on once you dry his back and he slowly sits upright.

"I may take you up on that," you exhale shortly, blinking in surprise at his offer - it seems genuine enough, you think, and the sentiment is appreciated if nothing else. "- I'll be honest with you Mr Eld, I never quite pictured myself to be the kind of woman who'd have anyone answering to them or looking to them in such a way, nor the type to have their own office," you look over at him - _he's not bad looking_ , you muse, before batting the inappropriate thought away " - so I appreciate the offer," - you contemplate, briefly, blurting something out. Something inappropriate - that weighed on you, just for his input - something like, _I think me and the commander are flirting -_ just to see how he'd take it, or what he'd advise, but in truth, as different as the rules are for special operatives, with all the concessions being made for your flexible schedule and close quarters pencilled in, the last thing you need is to start rumours.

So you swallow the urge to ask for advice, and pour some tea for the pair of you.

Eld Gin smiles again, and then glances at your hanging certificate, then back at you.

"We'll make a Matron of you yet, rookie - just remember, you can lean on us if you need to,".

He's about to say something, but the tea is finally cool enough to sip, and the pair of you fall into a comfortable silence.

* * *

Petra Ral is one of the softer, more accommodating members of the Special Ops squad. She's on a first name basis with Yeager, and has taken to calling you by your name rather than _matron,_ and is quick to try and get you to do the same. Your general formality rubs off on the titan boy, but you don't feel quite so familiar enough to call her by her first name, and simply calling her _Ral_ was you would with Maria Weber felt impersonal, but she soon accepted it as a general little quirk of yours. You're polite to a fault - an indicator of your upbringing no doubt, but you're more than willing to interact with everybody, you're just a little out of practice when it came to your own army peers.

"There's so many of them," Yeager comments, standing in a field of buttercups that dotted the courtyard in a spray of yellow between the untamed and overgrown green lawns.

"It's a shame, they're quite pretty," Petra replies, plucking one up into her fingers as you pass them some trowels and gardening supplies. You look to the little yellow flower between her thumb and index and smile a little - these used to grow quite determinately in the surrounding greenery of the Wolfgang manor, and are quite persistent as weeds go, but quite precious all the same. "But Captain Levi says we have to pick them out, root and stem before we can let the horses graze here," - you resist the urge to react, as your passing comment about the state of the place had been the cause.

"Yes well, small and pretty though they are Miss Petra, don't let them fool you - if you were to rub your fingers across their petals, the oil that would result would blister your skin ever so slightly. The truth is, benign as they are, they're just ever so slightly poisonous, deceptively so. These used to grow near our stables and give the poor horses colic," you murmur "-and though they're very small, turning the soil is important, their nodes are persistent and their reach spreads quite far. They're quite the nightmare to keep out of your garden," you add.

"I didn't know that," Petra said, eyes widening a little - but then again, you had an equestrian care tutor, so that isn't a surprise. "I used to make flower chains out of these as a kid and never realised, I just thought they made my skin dry," - and it's now that you look a little blank, tilting your head curiously at her.

"Flower chains?"

And that had started off - well - _this._

What had started as a serious task asked of by Captain Levi had steadily degenerated into casual reminiscing, though Yeager was doing a lot of the work with a large shovel, even he too, now had a small bracelet of interlocked buttercup stems around his left wrist, as so long as the flowers arent rubbed for their oil, there isn't any harmful effect to the skin. Apparently Petra was an only child, close with her father, and had joined the special ops crew around the same time that Oruo had, and received a lot of direct instruction from Eld in their time. She is, apparently, quite grateful for what she calls some small, positive changes in character in Oruo, and attributes all of it to you.

"He reminds me of Dieter," she noticed the way your smile faltered and dropped for a second - you missed your brother dearly - and so she distracts you, and calls a break, dragging the cluster of uprooted weeds with her, ready for the burn pile. By the time Petra finishes with you, she's gently pulled through buttercups in between the crown of braids you used to keep the rest of your loose locks out of your face, idly chattering about her first expedition with Oruo and the rest of the team, trying to prepare both you and Yeager for what to expect.

You almost ask for her opinion on the commander, but keep your mouth shut.

"Hard at work, are we?" it's Captain Levi who says this, and instantly Petra stiffens at your side along with Yeager. You, however, just gesture to the burn pile and look up at him - his eyes tracing over the halo of gold light from the sun hitting the flowers tucked into your braids, clashing against the silver-grey hanging in your ears and sitting in your sheepish smile.

"Yes sir! The courtyard is weeded and turned Captain," Petra says quickly.

"Get that in a burn pile then," Levi doesn't comment on the flowers behind Petra's ear, in your hair, or around Yeager's wrist, and just turns away, looking typically unbothered - the work was done, that's all that mattered. He hears you coming up behind him as he walks away though, catching up to him with a nervous sort of look about you.

"Actually, before you go Captain - I've got a question. I've got to re-order a lot of new things for the medical wing because most of everything is expired. I'm happy to make an apothecary run for a small number of things but if this place is going to host more scout groups than ourselves and get used as a base again, I'll need a little more things to hand, would I need my order list approved by Overseer Lufthanser? Or no? Oh - and sir, I'll also be needing to take everybody in for their annual general health check up so I can update all of your files tomorrow before I leave for Vortheim the day after, will that be alright?" it all comes out as a nervous rush, something about Captain Levi threw you off kilter a bit - something about him reminded you of the more intimidating features of Lord Adrianus's son. He has an aura of quiet power, and you'd heard all of the stories - and seen him briefly in the field - he is one to watch out for, and is difficult to read.

"That's fine, " Levi is short with you, but looks at you as you dig some papers out of a brown satchel at your side, brow raised - but a look at the title scrawled on it tells him it's an order list of medical supplies. " - anything for your EFP needs you can take directly to the commander, if I'm understanding everything correctly, he wants most of operations running through you with Doctor Lufthanser supporting you as much as possible. If it needs to get looked at by a senior doctor, he'll do that and get your list amended. He should be in his office," the way he speaks with you is short, blunt, to the point - and you almost feel like you're a waste of his time by asking annoying, logistical questions.

He catches the awkward flush in your cheeks, the way your eyes snap away from him when he mentions the commander, and decides to give you an out, if solely to observe your reaction to that.

Levi is, for all his faults, quite perceptive.

"Or you can just give it to me and I'll take care of it, I need to speak to him anyway. You can go back to - " he falters, and then makes a vague gesture with his left hand as he takes the files from you with his right. "- whatever it is they have you studying. Yeager and Petra can take care of the burn pile."

"Thank you sir!" you gush out quickly, before scarpering out of sight - relieved to be spared an awkward interaction with the indomitable commander.

Levi narrows his eyes at your retreating form, and turns to the direction of the man's office, paperwork tucked neatly under his arm as he does.

_What're you playing at old man?_

* * *

When night finally falls and you leave the medical wing, you're finally left to your own devices in the solace of your bedroom. Captain Levi taking your order list from you was some small relief at least, because as much as you quite liked the look of the commander, the last interaction you'd had was a bit more daring than you'd like when you're sober, and truth be told, you're not sure what you're trying to achieve by it. Well, in part, you are - you're acting out because you cannot _go out -_ because in times of emotional turmoil or general distress, you could be found in the closest bar, allowing your sorrows to pool at your feet until a sturdy pair of arms finds their way around your waist, ready to squeeze them out for all you're worth. It's a reprehensible little predilection of yours that gives most women a poor reputation, but you'd not gone out since you'd been lauded with titles like _Hero Girl_ or _Hero of Trost_ so the chances of going on the down-low when you've got such a distinct affliction in your jaw is probably a sign of death for your form of particular stress relief, at least, as _Red._

The guitar case sits at the side of your bed, you glance at it - contemplating strumming something out, but it's late - because much like the commander, you burn the candle at both ends, and are the only other person awake at this hour. 

Of that, you're certain.

_I need to stop thinking about him like this, it'll only make Vortheim more difficult._

Guiltily, you had strung up that silly old poster again, because at this point, sleeping without it is strange, and so you're glancing at it from your bed with a dull sigh, peeling out of your uniform and sending it in a heaping sprawl on the ground. Your thoughts persistently stray to the man. The flirting with the commander was tense, and surprisingly awkward for what it is. He’s a serious man, and though you’ve managed a chuckle and a smile from him, he’s one that’s so welded to his mask that it’s impossible to read his intentions until he acts them out. It’s why you wondered if he was teasing you when he grabbed your face and began pulling at your lips.

_Where did that come from? Ugh... I suppose he's the commander.... he can do whatever he wants._

A flush of heat went through your torso and thighs as you reminisced on it, body writhing with a slow, sensual sort of rhythm against your thin bed sheet. That sort of authority is tantalising, you had to confess - it spiked your heartbeat and made you acknowledge that there is something perversely exciting about someone so far above your station, manipulating your body with such a sense of casual ownership and authority. There was something thrilling about it in the same way that you chased a sort of unpredictable, dominating, dangerous high from the pull and force of large, brutal men. While Erwin isn’t brutal in his touch - but rather soft to a fault - you can feel warmth coursing through your veins regardless, remembering his authoritative, silky tone as his thumb roved up your lower lip into the flat of your metal teeth.

_Fuck, why is that turning me on? Maybe I should - get him out of my system? Before Vortheim._

You shouldn't be thinking of the commander like this - but maybe getting it out of your system yourself would provide some respite from the dangerous predilections you had. The chill and sense that what you're thinking about is entirely wrong in the strictest sense was enough to raise goosebumps along the skin of your arms. The fact you're warping what was a very real, very physical experience made it infinitely worse as your fingers brushed down the front of your stomach and slipped into the thinnest part of your underwear, thumb and two fingers wedged against your hip as the cotton folded over your knuckles.

_Agh, no I really shouldn't---_

You tug at your panties, pulling them down one thigh at first as your legs pushed upwards against your bedsheet. It isn't a good idea, you realise - the light - well, whatever it was, flirtation? Was one thing, that was something you knew how to work with, granted it'd be on a different sort of playing field, either in dive bars, or with high society - of which Erwin is neither, but to fantasise - and lose yourself...? It's a bad idea, because he's in your head, he's the reason your blood is running hot through your veins as your fingers dip through to your underwear and slide down the front of your entrance, swathing your index and middle finger in a clear, desperate, wet arousal.

_Think of someone else. Think of.. Vause? Artie? Kriezler - his smirk, his rigorous, unending thrusts - or the meaty, choking hold of Conra-- ohh, his fingers tasted like ink, the commander's hands were so big - those fingers, gentle too, for a man. I bet they feel so..._

You thought about the way the commander urged you onto his desk, straying back to him hopelessly as you look at the poster, taking your face in his hands and prying your lips open gently, envisioning him rising to his full, impressive height as he looks down at you with that piercing blue gaze that managed to make you feel so bare beneath that intensity. You tried to think of other things, other people you'd been with - _of course_ \- like Conrad, Vause, Kriezler, even Eld from earlier as he'd been nice to look at--- but it's not the same, you don't associate unbridled arousal and salacious, inappropriate desire that you do with a man such as the commander. It's a new level to the _wrong_ sort of exciting that men like Conrad couldn't hope to match, and there's the fact that once upon a time you'd stared at that damned poster, grabbing the handle of your poor, abused hairbrush- and allowed yourself an embarrassing little fantasy - much like you are now...

You thought about the commander quickly unbuckling his belt over the waistcoat of his uniform, his waist standing naturally at perfect height with your now-exposed lower body, knees shamelessly pushed apart as you remembered what it felt like being perched in front of him on his office desk. Your stomach feels a hot, edging tension build up as you recall just how it felt to be that close to the man, as you envision a far more inappropriate end, with the tall blond walking into the desk, pulling your body forwards, arms moving suggestively in front of his body as you ached to picture him doing something as crass as expose himself and slide into your pussy without pause, slowness or remorse.

_Lord, yes - I'm already so close - why---_

Perhaps it's narcissistic, but the heaving breathy noises you allowed yourself only further aroused your entire being as you gave your body the freedom to move at will, with as much exaggeration and slowness as required as you began to buck your hips into your fingers, the natural sounds of your self-pleasure filling the room with a thick headiness. The liberation of having your own room after so long of shared accommodation allowed you this precious moment of sin, and to tell the truth, you cannot recall the last stolen moment you'd had where you allowed yourself to relish in the utter intimacy of being able to touch yourself in the name of pleasure, where no pain, or punishment is involved. 

_"...c--commanhn--der!"_ your voice betrays you, and you're quick to try and smother it because sound can carry, but the heaviness in your stomach is proving too much - you've been teetering on the precipice of finishing for so long that you cannot hold it back, and a long, erotic yearning for the man pours out of your mouth before you can think to smother it properly.

It's enough to keep the commander's feet firmly planted outside, closed fist frozen mere inches from your door - as though he's paused his entire being before even daring to knock, his ears filling with the utterly sinful sounds of what can only be described as desperate, wet, slippery, skin to skin, reminding him of the hot, moving, soaking sound of a tongue writhing behind teeth. It's a very visual sort of noise that, even with the door all the way shut, he's forced to envisage the way you must be being pleasured so amorously on the other side.

It sounds like there's nobody in there with you, because all he can hear is soft, frantic breathing from just one person, and when he makes the mental connect of just what is happening behind the door. It registers to him quickly now that you're very likely alone, which is good because there's no way any of the special operations squad would fraternise with someone calling out for someone else.

It becomes very apparent you're pleasuring _yourself -_ and it raises the hair on his arms before he can really control it.

It does, however, make things a little more depraved. He's not naive, he knows that despite what society may expect of women, they absolutely have desires just as anybody else, and he'd heard the rumours surrounding your misbehaviour and stolen exploits into the night during your time training, as it had been your alibi for the slaughter of titan test subjects, but admittedly, Commander Erwin isn't one for entertaining his more human lusts and desires often, and the sounds are causing some measure of discomfort in the pit of his stomach, and certainly not the bad kind.

He can feel just how hot his neck is becoming under his collar, because as distant as he is, both physically and emotionally, he isn't totally divorced from his needs - he's a man who thinks about sex just as any other - something that would probably jar most of those who know of the man and his serious nature.

You could be thinking about a section commander - it's not like you've met the others, and so Commander Erwin tempers his thoughts and controls his breathing a bit, approved EFP list neatly under his shoulder and tucked to his side. He tells himself he has a reason for standing there as long as he has, oil lamp held numbly in his right hand. 

_I should go -_ the last thing he wants to be is a voyeur - a _creep -_ he'll just slide the papers under your door and make his exit _what she's doing and thinking about is not for my ears, or my business._

Though guiltily, tonight at least, he might be hearing those salacious sounds in his ears when he heads for his bedroom tonight and slips into his nightwear, and his hands just may betray him and seek to slake the inappropriate desires that, whilst he'd been playing on them a little in your company, right now, he was losing less of his conscious control of it, because even as he stands, he feels a sinful, warm little twitch beneath his belt and uniform waistcloth, his arousal stirring against his will just a little. He bends down at your door to slide the papers underneath and make a decidedly swift exit.

He is not a damned voyeur.

_"--Hgn - nn --- 'nrwin...- ahh... -- "_ his name is amalgamed into a slosh of wet, strangled, twisting noises as the breathing becomes frantic panting and there's a slight crescendo to the erotic noises that are seeping out ever so slightly - from just how close he is to the door. You're clearly having fun, you might even be finishing from the sounds of it, but catching what he thinks is his name startles him utterly and completely, shattering his composure for all of a minute.

He feels the heat in his blood flare like a sudden stroke of bleating sun coming over the horizon, and it strikes him completely still as he slides the papers under your door quietly.

_Did she just...?_

His stomach knots, and what is a guilty twitch becomes a disgusting _throb_ against his thigh and it's now he decides to turn his heel and make a speedy exit, relief not hitting him until he feels his doorknob in his hands and locks his bedroom behind him, a wave of disbelief washing over his body for a few moments.

He's not a bad looking guy, certainly he's had propositions in his past, but - something like _that -_ well, even at his age, he hasn't quite experienced something like that.

And now, in the quietness of night, with all of the candles and lamps out, Erwin Smith's body caves utterly, and a low groan slips out as he begins to wonder, mind straying as his hands gradually do, sliding beneath the pull cord of his sleepwear as those wet noises fill his ears with a haunting persistence.

He wants to sleep. Needs to sleep.

But all he can think about is what marvellously sensual things you'd have learned from Royal Court, remembering your words and conversation about the Golden Playhouse.

And how _badly_ he wants to see it.


	11. Wellness

_Chapter Eleven_

Day Four

**Wellness**

Levi is not a naturally sociable creature, and so broaching any particularly personal topic was not something he handles with much grace. Looking out onto the castle courtyard, he observes how you blend into the team, comparing it to Yeager. Your age makes all the difference, like the more seasoned members, you’re older than a lot of the graduating class, belonging to the cluster of mature recruits they’d get who don’t join the military at the minimum age requirement. You bring out a maturity from Oruo that the rest of them don’t quite manage, and unlike Yeager, you do not have something like titan power hanging over you, preventing you from being truly equal. He is surprised to see Eld alongside Oruo, and had he been of a softer nature, he’d have found it a somewhat endearing sight. He cannot hear the conversation, but he sees Eld pointing up at the clouds, laughter, and you draping your arms lazily over their collarbones as they lay beside you in the grassy field. It’s familiar, and natural, despite how new you are, you just seem to fit, like a humble corner piece to their functioning puzzle.

A pair of cool, calculating blue eyes gaze out similarly from the high, glass window of one of the drawing rooms, overlooking the courtyard, in quiet contemplation.

You fit in, for better or worse - and the talk Levi had with the commander had been blunt, and uncomfortable. Well, for most people in that situation, anyway. Levi found himself in the strange position of querying the commander’s methods in a manner he’d never done much in the past. Messing with somebody who was the ward of someone who apparently controlled a huge bulk of the monarchy’s treasury struck him as a needlessly troublesome.

“Juggling this with Yeager, I don’t doubt you can do it, I’ve just never known you to use such shitty tactics - and I don’t mean in effectiveness,” Levi didn’t make any bones about the issue, because seeing how you naturally you fit in with the team - and are able to naturally smooth over the bumps and teething issues with the custody of the titan boy, helping him integrate a little more naturally. You’re even good for Oruo, and by extension, Petra and the overall working relationship of the team, so the commander ingratiating you so closely - toying with your emotions, doesn’t bode well. Erwin was always a pragmatic sort, too - and in all the time Levi has known him, he isn’t one to date, either - actively avoiding it, so the sudden change of gears feels seedy.

“I’m not quite sure what you think you’re accusing me of,” the Commander, however, is frustratingly cool about the entire thing, but knows exactly what Levi is getting at.

“If you’re referring to my working relationship with our new medic,” - Erwin had said, looking at him, undisturbed by his judgemental expression. “-her complicated station lends her to being between both us, and her patron. I would prefer she stays with us. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to keep her here, as you put it, Captain, she integrates well,” he said simply.

“-I don’t aim to jeopardise that, but if it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ve no intentions of doing anything that could upset what we’re doing,” he says, and usually it would be enough.

Except, Levi was perceptive - so on this occasion, it wasn’t enough.

“She’s been avoiding you,” he had said, quite pointedly -and explained why he was handing over the medical supply order list and not you, and it’s that which had forced Erwin to evaluate his behaviour, but the talk the night prior had finished with this.

“Oh, yes - that. She admitted to having a little crush - it’s just a bit of embarrassment, nothing more - will that be all?” - and in truth, Levi hadn't quite known what to say to that, except he was now aware the pair of you were cautiously flirting, circling each other - for better or worse, which explained at least some of your odd behaviour.

It was a strange conversation, and Levi isn’t sure how he feels about it. He still watches from the doorway though - observing the way you’re finally comfortable enough that you easily flop your arms out over Oruo and Eld’s chests, gazing up at the clouds with you. In the short time you’d been there, being treated with respect, and kindness, had you shrinking away from authority a lot less, and smiling a lot more. Granted, you still seemed to give Captain Levi a wide berth, you had no choice when it came to his physical exam.

“Sorry about all the awkward questions sir,” you murmured, flitting around the medical wing - you’d already seen to Eld, who couldn’t stop mentioning how good his back felt when you’d finish with his heat therapy, Gunther, Oruo and Petra. Your touch is soft, but professional and clinical, but you were refraining from looking him too much in the face. Your skittishness around Levi hadn't really broken at any point in your time at the castle, and you'd avoided spending much time alone around him, because he doesn't strike you as the social sort. Levi silently intimidates, as he doesn't give off the gentle, charming airs that the imposing commander can so effortlessly switch on.

He doesn't take a genius for Levi to figure you're intimidated by his presence, you'd grown out of your shrinking violet phase with the others, but it hadn't quite happened with the captain. He reminds you of the quietly intimidating, hair-trigger sorts that could lapse into sudden violence, you had known to be wary about those sorts. He's devastating in the field, but in his capacity as leader - you'd only ever seen him behave calmly, and collectedly, in a manner that made you feel just a little silly for being so on edge, but you would always trust your gut. Always.

"Lets just get it over with," Levi replies - not flinching when a cold stethoscope is placed against his chest, his shirt is off - and in a neat folded pile at the head of the bed while you listen to the steadiness of his heart. The Captain has a ridiculously sculpted figure, all things considered - though that was in line with all of the men you'd examined, he noticeably had more muscle built up in his legs and upper back - it took all of you to remain professional, as you hadn't quite expected him to be so defined, even Eld was a little more on the softer side.

Still, you're professional, you don't let your stare or touch linger, and are quick to get through the awkward dietary and bathroom habits quesions - Levi answers all of them tonelessly, and stares you persistently for the duration of his annual physical.

"You done yet? I wanted to ask you something," Levi's tone doesn't betray his thoughts, nor does his flat expression. You pull the stethoscope from your ears and look up at him curiously, scribbling something down in his file before shaking your head negatively, skin naturally flush.

"Almost Captain, sorry! Please lay back for me, I just have to check your vitals and then we're all finished," you said, somewhat surprised by how accommodating the man is being, as you thought he might be somewhat obstinate, and deem it all a waste of his time. He seems to have a begrudging understanding for the importance of keeping his personnel file up to date though, and that his medical check-up is important, even if he feels fine. Levi rolls his eyes a bit regardless, though, and lays back on the bed, unmoving as your gloved hands settle on his stomach, with a light, palpative gesture, feeling for any swelling or any irregular reaction or discomfort.

"Mmm.... anything I should know about Captain?" you're wearing thick, black medical gloves that thankfully put some distance between yourself and Levi's abdominal muscles, but it's still a bit too intimate for you to look him in the face. You've yet to get used to this side of your role, but remain unwaveringly professional.

"No," Levi says shortly, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head once you retract your hands and give him a clean bill of health. He leans forward, and sits with a casual, wide-legged stance off the end of the bed, elbow on his knee and hand propping his chin up while the sound of you filling out paperwork fills the room.

He looks at you for a long moment, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile contently under the candlelight of the room - you already ooze a sense of quiet confidence in what you're doing. It's the same quiet confidence that your instructor had found infuriating in its consistent presence, as no matter what he had made you endure, you would not break down. That ability to endure had flourished during the battle of Trost and had only been encouraged after with the presence of the special operations squad. Oruo is, surprisingly, the source of a lot of your outward confidence, and you'd clearly made some decent strides with most of his team. 

"In that case - you're clear, unless you'd like some muscle therapy before you go? Mr Eld and Miss Petra are rather fans of it, says it helps them sleep, - I've managed to get some oils melting down from some of what we picked from the gardens," you offer - as you still needed to do an apothecary run, and a large stock order, but the greenery surrounding the castle naturally yielded some herbs and a useful amount of lavender that you're using in various natural poultices or oils. Levi raises a brow at your offer, but shakes his head negatively -he'd heard Eld raving about it, but deems it unnecessary.

"No, but I just wanted to ask - if you're comfortable with what the commander has you doing? You're still in my team," said Levi shortly, cutting right to the point. You bristle in surprise, cheeks colouring on instinct as you look at the naturally stern seeming captain, uncertain of what to make of his words, tone or expression. 

_What's he getting at?_

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Captain," you tilt your head a little, trying to gauge something from his unreadable expression. Your expression smooths out to a well-trained innocence, and gives nothing in return. "-The commander hasn't asked anything of me outside of my job, granted, it's a little unconventional, but if I can help secure funding using my links into Wall Sina," you brush some hair behind your ear, looking as casual as can be "-I don't see why I shouldn't. In fact, with the exception of a nice man in the military police - I don't think anyone in upper ranks has ever treated me so well or made me so comfortable," - and that much is true, it forces Levi to remember what he'd read in the dossier that was being formed on you and your interactions with Instructor Ludolf. 

It just gives the Captain a bad feeling, a sour taste in the back of his throat - Commander Erwin's willingness to use any means necessary is unsurprising, but he finds it almost needless to exploit a passing fancy. He doesn't understand the reasoning - because surely there must be some? There's something that makes you prefer the front lines over a secure life behind Wall Sina. There's something that makes you kick the hornets nest by turning your back on your patron, something that makes you choose a tough, medical sort of path over a life of unimaginable luxury. In truth, Levi feels like there's something missing - between Erwin's willingness to use your light infatuation - or crush, whatever it was, and your willingness to turn away from an unfathomable amount of privilege, he just _doesn't get it._

There must be something else going on, deeper under the surface that he isn't privy to, but you give nothing away, blinking at him innocently.

"Well, if that changes at some point, I want to know. Alright?" - you just nod, smiling benignly, to which Levi just acknowledges your nod with a narrowed look, before getting up off of the bed to leave.

"Yes sir, but speaking of which - could you kindly send him in please, if he's not busy? He's -- " you pause, looking down at the paperwork behind Levi's file with a sheepish smile "-two years overdue his check-up and record update," - earning a short snort from the captain.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

A lot of what you find yourself doing is because the bloody smile and dimming stare of Longinus, strung up helplessly on a wooden beam in the ruins of Trost lived rent-free in your head. It's a curious response to trauma, because while you weren't close enough with the boy, he had certainly held a special place in your thoughts as someone who had always treated you equally, and kindly, in his strange little way. He had never done anything untoward, but he never shied away from remarking on you the way he would most women who had a pulse, and refused to cave into the temptation of disliking you, or insulting you as Weber and Ludolf had popularised. 

Vaguely, you remember how he'd even broken up a fight between you and Weber, when she had finally physically lashed out at you, and you took the opportunity to defend yourself to the fullest. God, how had you forgotten that? The way you and Weber rolled around in the mud with an unmatched viciousness made it particularly unappealing to try and break you up. Longinus had effortlessly walked in, hand over his own heart dramatically, proclaiming that not only was there enough of him to go around, but if the pair of you were going to fight for his attention like that, to have the decency to strip down and cover yourselves in oil first.

You snort softly to yourself at the memory, never had you and Weber jumped so far apart, so fast in your lives - and while Weber screamed at him for being a pervert, he had, in fact, broken up the fight with remarkable ease.

_Longinus, how did I forget you?_

In three years, there's a lot of little moments, and it's now that you burden yourself with guilt for not remembering them all - it had been three years of Hell, where only survival mattered, and getting Dieter to where he needed to be - you barely paid attention to everything else. You remember how you shared his final moments in Trost, and take pause - the commander had been there for that, and he'd been surprisingly empathetic - more than you had expected of him, when he has a reputation for heartless pragmatism. Part of why you're working so hard, you realise - glancing up at your medical certificate, is that maybe you could have done something, saved more people - gotten to Longinus before he'd gotten impaled - if you had skills outside of being a titan killer. 

Deep down, you just want everybody to live, when faced with your own mortality - you'd put all others before you and it was in that moment, you knew the kind of person you wanted to be, outside of Leon's ward. In your preparations to be a field physician, you had also been making headway with historical injury reports, and things you could encounter in during battle. It ranged with everything from ODM injuries, accidentally being trampled by other horses, to loss of limb, you made a mental note to focus with some intensity on the latter - as your three years of training and excelling in use of ODM gave you more than your fair share of experience in the former.

You were now also acutely aware of the death toll per expedition of fresh graduates, it was enough to make you visibly grimace, a faint stomach churning in the pit of your gut.

The documentation renders you looking somewhat pallid as you quietly began mixing freshly picked ingredients together, having a work station setup not too far away from the beds. It isn't ideal - but until you could get into town, washing out and using the old alembic you'd found in your clearing of the wing was your best bet. You were certainly no chemist, and certainly you wouldn't deem this in even the same realm as real medicine, but for the purposes of muscle injury and sports therapy, the distilling of natural oils was considered relatively low risk and something you'd assisted with on base often, perfecting and tweaking things that you found were effective.

Levi had gone some time ago, and so you were just quietly bottling different vials of oils, reasoning that the commander was occupied, trying to busy yourself now you'd emptied most of the cabinets of expired medicine - hopefully nobody would get injured between now and restocking the shelves.

"My apologies, I was held up by a meeting," the smooth, silky, familiar voice of the commander breaks you out of your reverie when the door to the hospital wing creak open, causing you to jump slightly.

He makes the room feel smaller just by virtue of being in it, and on instinct you quickly fix your hair a bit and gesture to the closest bed. What a time to be caught off-guard, you muse, wiping a light bead of sweat from your forehead from leaning over the steaming alembic with silent study and dedication.

"That's quite alright sir," you say quickly, blowing steam off of your distilling kit and opening a small window - the wing was beginning to smell of different burning flowers and it was probably nauseating to those of more sensitive inclinations. "You're a busy man and there's a lot to do before we go to Vortheim - I just wanted all of the files updated so there's less work when we return. I'll try not to take up too much of your time," - you do a remarkable job of looking at him in the eye, as your salacious fantasy from the night previous was now far, far in the back of your mind, taking a backseat in favour of work.

"No need to rush on my account," he takes on a naturally reassuring tone, and walks towards the bed, sitting down on it from the side with one long, boot-clad leg draped over the other, managing to look every inch perfectly poised. "Take as long as you need," he adds, before pausing, and looking at you with a singular raised brow, as you'd yet to completely pull your focus from your oil bottling. 

"To be perfectly honest, I didn't realise I was two years late on my annual check up," he admits - as he'd been both bemused and startled when Levi bluntly rocked up into his office and instructed him to go for a physical, but after looking at his own copy of his file - and remembering that everyone else was due their check up, it clicked that he too, fell in that category, and commander or not, as long as he was active, serving army personnel, he was subject to all of the annual formalities and health evaluations for fitness to serve.

"Easily done, I've peeked at your schedule sir, it's rather appalling if you don't mind my saying," you murmur, recalling seeing it on his desk when he called you in to discuss the intimacies of the trip to Vortheim - without turning to see his expression at that, you begin sterilising the black gloves you'd used and tonelessly ask whether he preferred gloved or ungloved, as check ups weren't generally invasive unless there was cause. If the man was remotely bothered by your light invasion of privacy, he doesn't let on, but makes a mental note that you're a lot more perceptive than perhaps you let on - crush or not.

"Indeed - and ah, either, I do not mind particularly," Erwin says, not particularly caring, but watching as you ditch the gloves and begin meticulously cleaning your hands and nails in a sterile basin of water, whilst setting a separate hot pot to simmer after a moment of silent deliberation. 

"Well, one tastes of rubber, the other is going to taste like soap," you quip - scrambling to find your coolness around the man - being absorbed in your work and trying to retain a professional mask greatly helped with this, but his voice easily filled the room and his eyes are entirely too blue for you to look at him for terribly long.

You tell yourself to talk to him the way you would talk to the lords and those of high station prior to your time in the army, when the words flowed like wine and for all its haunting faults, the day to day seemed much easier. You think that maybe, just maybe, the three years of only having Dieter exclusively and suffering under Ludolf had taken much from you emotionally and developmentally, as much as basic training had given you. You were equal parts developed into your specialisms as a gifted soldier, but becoming stunted in places you used to shine, socially speaking.

After all, from your very first day, Ludolf encouraged your silence, and to shroud yourself away - out of sight, out of mind.

It's a lot to unlearn.

"I suppose the tables are turning now sir," you remark weakly, trying to edge into humorous grounds the way you would with Eld or Gunther to lessen the tension, but all you get is an unreadable look from those sapphire eyes as you advance towards the bed, hands braced and reaching towards his face. "I need to give you a quick oral exam," you clarify.

"Indeed," is the only reply you garner, before you warn him that your hands are cold from the sterilisation, a light tone of apologia in your voice that he brushes off with ease as your hands nervously settle around his cheeks and you inhale sharply, trying not to let yourself drown in this utterly alien feeling that came from the familiarity in how you touch him.

_You touch strangers all the time. This is no different - but heaven above - those cheekbones._

You prise his mouth open without asking him to, as his body reads the signals of your fingers with ease and he parts his lips with no resistance - too easily - you think distractedly, and reinforce your mask of professionalism, your touch - clinical, though tender even despite that. Your fingers do not take luxuries or cruise around his lips as he had done to you. In keeping with your professional demeanour, and to calm your steadily pounding heart, you focus your gaze into his mouth - his breath was fine, healthy seeming, along side rows of pearly white teeth, his tongue was a pleasing colour at least as medical evaluations go - tonsils were fine---

If the commander is uncomfortable, or tasting the soap on your nervous fingers, he doesn't comment on it, but rather lets your exploratory touch do its work.

"Right - it all looks good in there, can I assume no unusual pains, aches, soreness or swelling in your mouth or throat?" you ask, trying to fill the stiflingly intimate silence with your words, and feeling overwhelmingly relieved when none of them warble or give way to your demureness at how close you are to his face, and how much control he was simply allowing you to have without any question. You remove your fingers but keep your hands on his cheeks, swallowing the nerves in the base of your throat as you look over his eyes quickly, and then his inner ear.

"No Matron," he refers to you by title, which is enough to garner a flush of heat through your body before you can stop it - because you're no longer _soldier_ or _recruit -_ you're a title that you earned, that the commander helped facilitate you getting in writing, and admittedly - it did sound rather divine when coming from his lips.

"Alright g-good, now I just need you to take your shirt off for me and answer some kind of invasive questions, and then we can be done," you say, quickly. After starting with Petra, it got a lot less awkward with the exception of Levi and his irritated, flat tones, but racing through these sorts of intimate questions with the commander did feel just a little strange, stranger than you holding his face - you muse, after letting go.

He didn't give any indication of awkwardness himself, however, and answered everything honestly and bluntly - questions like dietary changes, bathroom habits, any new allergies - none of them seem to particularly bother him, though you do have to ask him just a few more on the basis of his age alone.

"Okay - just a quick physical once over, please take your shirt off for me," you steeled yourself, of course, as you'd had people peeling out of their clothes for most of the day, but the promptness took you off guard, as he began unbuttoning his white shirt before putting it in a neat pile at the side of the bed with his uniform jacket.

_Well, that isn't fair at all._

He's naturally wide set where Eld and the others aren't, so whilst all bare defined musculature, the commander is like cut marble, though warm to the touch. The muscles of his biceps and abdomen are incredibly well defined, just as much as the captains - which is saying something considering he probably does more desk work than most. You drag your eyes up his torso and wring your fingers out as though you're stretching them, rather than out of nervousness, and begin applying the cool press of your stethoscope to his chest, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat with flushed cheeks.

_Thump...thump...thump..._

"Wonderful," you say shortly "-nice and consistent - erm - just - bare with me, I have to check for any swelling or abnormalities - I know you said you're fine, I just -have to, sir," you utter out quickly, pulling your stethoscope back and shyly running the flat of your palms down his pectorals to his lower abdomen, fingers coursing over some of the indentations of his sixpack, with only a small, audible swallow escaping as you close your eyes and repeat a mantra of professionalism in your head. 

You feel the muscles of his torso tense almost imperceptibly around his lower abdomen once the side of your hand brushes the top of his belt. Everything is perfectly in order, your touch - still professional as you resist the urge to run your fingers over his torso with reverence and perversion.

In truth, it has been an uncomfortably long time since Erwin Smith had felt the invitingly soft touch of a woman, and thus his muscles contract, tense and twitch against his will, causing him to very consciously force his body still under your hands.

"You appear to have a clean bill of health, Commander Erwin," you say, opening your eyes and glancing down past his belt, resisting the urge to have your eyes linger anywhere sordid - you do find his thick, and rather shapely thighs to be more distracting than they should be, and viciously stamp down on the thought for the sake of professionalism. "I'm happy to update your records tonight before bed - it seems time has gotten away from us," and at this, the blond turns to the nearest window and sees dusk is beginning to settle, the clouds purpling under late evening hues that bathe the hospital wing in varying, warm shades of gold.

"Thank you Matron," he says, politely, about to reach for his shirt, but not before you begin asking more questions.

"Anything else left on your agenda for tonight sir? If not, I've been offering everybody the chance at some muscle therapy, I know Captain Levi runs us all ragged," you tilt your head innocently to the side "- and I know you and me stay up the latest, so you'll pardon my hypocrisy, but you shouldn't burn the candle at both ends so often, you're terribly stiff," and that was more of an honest observation than anything sordid "-something good rest will help with,".

"This was the last thing I had to do today," he admits, though in answer to your offer, he cannot remember the last time he'd ever needed it - ODM strain is something he doesn't deal with much, and he trains on his own schedule - resulting in a lot less delayed onset muscle soreness than the rest of special operations. "-though I do admit, I am working a little later than I'd like, lately," - he doesn't turn down your offer, nor does he reach for his shirt anymore. "I suppose a little treatment wouldn't hurt - though I haven't really had any in a good year or two," he adds.

Erwin isn't one for wasting time unnecessarily, but there's a reason behind it. He needs to talk to you, not to retread old ground about whether he'd made you uncomfortable - as he'd apologised at the time and your easy openness seemed to hint that you weren't - but instead, he has something he needs to ask you, and in truth, he rather likes the idea of being touched, but smothers it under your concern for his overall wellbeing. It isn't totally lecherous, he thinks - as he's able to control himself under your delicate yet appropriately tame touch, but if he is honest with himself, he keeps even his friends at a sort of intangible distance, emotionally mostly, but it can transcend to physically. There's not many who feel so bold as to touch him or reach out for him, anyway, because he comes off as indomitable, difficult to read, and awkwardly cold.

His body twitches under your hands and he has to consciously with hold his hips from jerking in response when you had felt around his lower abdomen, and realises blithely that he is perhaps more than a little touch starved.

"I'm not surprised - but everybody needs some relief now and then," you muse - your tone taking on a softer edge than it already has " - lay on your stomach for me sir, and unclench your jaw," - at this, the blond wasn't even aware he was doing so, but it's one of those natural states that you're never quite conscious of until somebody reminds you. He actively relaxes his jaw, and turns over, sparing you mercifully of his toned abdomen and instead exposing you to defined, rippling back muscle that caught the breath in your throat.

_Pull yourself together._

"I needed to speak with you anyway, I suppose now is as good a time as any," he says, uncertain of what to expect outside of the standard pressure on certain joints, or rolling of his muscles - until he feels your small, delicate hands pressing something rather hot against his upper trapezius. He flinches for a moment, largely out of surprise, before relaxing and feeling his skin acclimate to the heat. It is now, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the hot water you'd put to boil next to your alembic wasn't for tea, but rather, have dipped a clean towel into it, which had been wrung out and gives off a faint waft of steam.

"Alright - but do try and relax sir," you concede, reaching for one of the bottles you'd distilled yourself - it was something the base doctor had used on you often, that the pair of you developed. It's a plant based oil, largely lavender and clary sage, and you lather your fingers in it until the smell of lavender permeates the room. Whilst you placed little stock in most herb reliant remedies, they certainly were good to assist more heavily chemical medicinal processes, and a lot of what was naturally occurring in the grasslands was something herbalists and doctors alike found useful as home remedies. 

"Y-you uhm, you don't want to end up like one of those old guys who ends up complaining about their joints," you try to sound casual, and a little teasing - but something about this man, much like Captain Levi - though to a more severe extent, managed to make you feel out of sorts. Not looking him the face and being entirely focused on his back, however, did help you feel a little more brazen and more yourself. "This is a lavender and clary sage based oil, good for muscle tension and helping you get to sleep, the heat therapy aspect we've found is like concentrating the effect of a hot spring but directly where the soreness is. I'm afraid I've been distilling my own solutions until we can get our natural and chemical remedy stock replenished - ah - thanks for that by the way," you rush - moving the heated towel town his spine until it hit a particularly pleasurable, seldom-touched area of his lower back.

"Approving my stock list," you mumble, honestly you expected at least one redaction based on budget, but the man had been accommodating - you weren't sure when he'd finished it, but you'd noticed it had been slid under your door at some point, in what you assumed was the small hours of the morning.

"I came by to drop it off late last night," at this, you feel your heart drop for a second.

_How late._

_Did he... he didn't hear, did he?_

There's an air of almost palpable awkwardness and tension while you work the knots in his back with practiced ease, kneading with only the necessary amount of pressure and no more. 

"I must have just missed you, though," he doesn't let onto anything, and you relax a little - as much as you can, anyway. He hasn't hinted anything, or said anything awkwardly flirtatious as the pair of you had been doing in your moments of solace with the other. "-It seemed reasonable enough, and the funds will come through shortly. We'll get you stocked by next week - that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about though, Matron," he says, his face turned so he's laying flat against the pillow and looking over at the sway of your hip and flutter of your red cloak as you move up and down the length of the bed, working his body with tremendous ease.

_Crnk! Crnk! Crnnnkk!_

Erwin tenses, and then feels his upper back relax, his deltoids automatically slope as it seems his entire body is uncontracting, releasing the tension in his back until his bones feel pleasantly liquified from the sort of release he's getting from the pressure you'd put in just the right spot - it hurt at first, but several clicks than reverberated through his body sent a wave of relaxation over his form.

Maybe it's the oils, or the heat, but he's never quite had physical therapy feel quite so divine - he understands now, why Eld lauds it so much, and can only imagine the sort of freeing ecstasy it must induce after the delayed onset soreness of ODM strain, or training just being a little bit more brutal than usual.

"Oh! Commander - that was a deeper knot than I thought let me just - I'm going to go up to your neck alright? I'm feeling a lot of..." you trail off, bringing the damp heat up to his neck as you begin to work his delts, warming up to the strange intimacy of touching someone's neck - even if it is just the back of it. "-it feels tight, but I suppose somebody like you must deal with a lot of stress," you try to sound sympathetic. Once upon a time, you were good at saying what men wanted to hear, and made an artform of it, but a man like Commander Erwin is hard to read, and certainly less vapid than some of the nobility you'd been exposed to.

Maybe you're a little out of practice, he's hardly a dive bar ruffian either - his body language is all different, and one you have to learn to read and talk in.

"Mm," a low noise does leave him, rumbling from the base of his throat, and you're not sure if it's a deep groan or a noise of approval, but you flush nonetheless, making a point not to look at his face. "It's lessened by having a good team," he responds diplomatically, gazing at you with a cool, half-lidded stare.

_Perhaps I'm enjoying this a little more than I should,_ he muses, and refocuses on his original goal - talking to you about what kept him busy most of the afternoon.

"Which I'm glad you've joined - and I maintain my original promise - to oversee your transition and acclimatisation to special operations, so I wanted you to hear it from myself first," he doesn't know how to brace you, and he isn't one for meaningless preamble or beating around the bush, so, for better or worse, he just says it.

"Your training camp instructor Ludolf - is going to be subject to a full military tribunal in two weeks time," you freeze - for a moment anyway, before continuing your ministrations.

"Oh," is all you offer, your response, somewhat bland and lacklustre as the commander looks up at you, squeezing gently and kneading months old stiffness from the back of his neck in a way that can only be described as uncomfortably pleasurable. You were pressing some weight in an oddly intimate spot that didn't get this sort of attention, and admittedly, Commander Erwin is finding it quite liberating for all of the tension built into his body.

"In the interest of justice, you'd be expected to attend, even if they've been building a historical case, I have it on word from Commander Nile that your presence is specifically requested," he adds.

_Oh._

He observes as your content smile drops from your comely features and furrows his brows a little bit, seeing something flash in your eyes before you resume your ministrations calmly.

"Is it compulsory?" that is his first indicator that you had no interest in going, reluctance in both your tone and body language. It is something he finds a little strange, as he'd seen the reports in some detail - and by all rights you should resent the fact the man isn't swinging from the gallows - a few moments he had paused to fully absorb the exorbitant cruelty and ghastliness of what your comrades had witnessed and supported in the dossier.

The armed forces are intensely unforgiving, and brutal, but malicious?

It was never supposed to be malicious. Training camp is where you're supposed to flourish into your own, and make lifelong friends out of your comrades.

_I thought a few times she might die before we graduate Officer Aiblinger - Alfred Meier, 104th_

When he looks into your eyes, and your gentle, almost disappointed tones at the sheer idea of having to see him in court - even if it was to exact justice, well, he cannot help but feel a little strange about it.

Where was your anger?

"I'll be present," he adds "- I've taken responsibility for you, so I will be present, if that is of any comfort," he isn't sure why he peppers that in, in truth, he doesn't know what his schedule will look like that far in advance, but by his own casual utterance - he has promised himself to attend.

You don't answer right away, opting to lightly dab him with the dry end of the now-warm rather-than-hot towel, wiping any moisture or oils that hadn't soaked completely into his skin so that he wouldn't feel greasy or unpleasant when he puts his button-up shirt back on. The vaguely troubled expression doesn't leave your features, however, and barely register the commanders words are a hamfisted attempt at making you feel at ease with the situation.

You just wanted to put it behind you.

"Thank you sir, I believe we're done for the night now. It's best you retire for the evening, I'll be doing the same shortly," your tone still seems off though, and briefly, Erwin regrets picking this moment to bring it up, as you seemed so content a moment ago.

He's slow to rise upright, his blood coursing through him relaxingly and his entire form feeling akin to leaving a hot spring, or particularly decadent bath, he takes his time leisurely pulling his arms through his shirt and buttoning from navel to collar.

He feels like he's said something wrong, and doesn't know how to right it - though he hasn't _done anything_ per se, he feels some responsibility for dampening your mood this evening, and offers you a small, rarely seen smile.

"An excellent idea, I expect I'll sleep soundly tonight - you're quite gifted at this," he offers, before sliding off of the bed to his feet " - I hope you do too, you've certainly had a long day by all accounts," he's heard of how busy you've been, and seen you practicing with Oruo, as well as update records and do physicals all day - and now, distilling your own herbal relief - you'd taken the EFP mantle with a vicious seriousness that truly, he did not expect.

It seemed you really did just want as many people to live as possible.

"Mm. Something like that," you exhale shortly, you had taken a considerable break in the morning to giggle at phallic clouds with some of the special operations crew, but the rest of the day had very much been stressful. "-Goodnight commander, I hope I don't see you burning the midnight oil when I'm on my way up," you add as an afterthought, though your tone still seems just ever so slightly off, like somebody had let the wind out of your sails.

"I'll take that as doctor's orders, goodnight,"

And that was that.

You had a glistening, half-naked Commander Erwin in your wing, alone, and managed to keep your wits.

_I might just get half-decent at this._


End file.
